Pieces of a Whole
by EmilyTT
Summary: Dick Grayson was living the more perfect life a man could ask for. He saved lives by day as a police officer and saved even more by night as Nightwing. Then the Joker killed him. Resurrected by the lazarus pit by Ra's Al Ghul and having gone insane, he runs to Deathstroke and takes up the mantle of Shadow, a mysterious assassin with a shattered sense of morality and humanity. S2 Au
1. Chapter 1

The Bioship, in camouflage mode, was flying just on top of the water of the South Pacific. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, and Robin sat inside of it, patiently waiting to arrive at their destination. Lagoon Boy and Aquaman stood below, ready to jump down into the water when instructed.

"Remember," Batman said, "this is primarily a recon mission. We want to discover all we can about the Krolotean invasion strategy before we shut them down and deliver them to the Green Lantern Core."

Nightwing his the comm on his ear to contact the other squads. "Approaching drop zone, Beta." It was another few minutes before he spoke again, this time announcing that they were landing themselves.

The guard at the door turned to the right before turning left, only to receive a punch directly in the visor from Batman. The Bat Family proceeded into the building.

They were all surprised with what they saw. A giant pod of some sort was being constructed on, several alien machines releasing sparks of electricity from the collision of metal being melded together.

Nightwing, Batgirl, and Robin dropped onto the catwalk towards the top of the mountain. Nightwing signalled to the left, Robin darting to the right while he and Batgirl took left.

From far below, a man with a uniform different than his comrades narrowed his eyes before turing around. "Intruders. Upper level. And in the water." Just as the word, "water," left his mouth, he turned and shot red lasers from his visors in the direction of Aquaman and L'Gonn.

Back on the upper level, Manta guards saw Robin creeping around on the walls. "There!" one cried out. Before they could start shooting their guns, Batman landed behind them and took them out. He threw a batarang at incoming soldiers, taking the first one out, while Batgirl emerged from a doorway and Nightwing flung himself over the railing.

Robin pulled out a bo staff and extended it before planting one end on the floor to propel himself over to another catwalk where two unsuspecting men dressed in black were walking.

Batgirl and Nightwing stuck together, watching Batman leap off of the railing and land on another. They moved in another direction, taking the stairs behind them and nearly crashing into men. The heroes recovered first. Nightwing crouched down while Batgirl used his back as a springboard to catapult herself over all three, striking out with her feet in the process. The enemies fell like stones.

Both looked down towards the ground, taking note that Superman and Superboy had arrived and were partaking in the fight.

He glanced at Batgirl, a sad look crossing his face. Batgirl frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Do you...Do you think that we'd be in this situation right now if Dick were still here?" He paused for a moment before adding quietly, "Do you think he'd have given different orders than what I have?"

Batgirl sighed. She knew this conversation was going to appear at some point. In fact, everyone did. Even the members who joined the Team after Dick died. He tried to hide it, but everyone would see him glance up towards the sky or ceiling after every given order, as though questioning if he made the right choice.

"Nightwing-"

"Ha, Nightwing. I am the successor of the first Robin and Nightwing. But what if I fail? I can't fail! But I will. Then everything that he worked so hard for will have been for nothing. I am the successor of the first Ro-" His masked eyes were widened, and Batgirl had to slap him across the face to snap him out of it.

"Jason," she hissed sharply. "Stop! You are not Dick, nor should you try to be him! You are Jason Todd. you are only Nightwing because the League doesn't want the world to remember that we're not immortal. You know this." She pointed her finger at him while she spoke before planting it on his chest. "You. Are. Jason. Todd. No one expects or wants you to be him. Got it?"

He scoffed. "Try telling that to Batman. He expects me to be his Golden Bird. You know how long he spent trying to mold me into being Dick?"

"Yes. You've told the story tons of times. He's different." Barbara took a moment to glance back at the fight below them. "Come on, they look like they could use our help."

Jason nodded awkwardly. "Yeah… thanks, Batgirl."

Without sharing so much as a glance, the two pulled and grappling guns and jumped towards the ground, angling themselves so that they landed on the shoulders of two soldiers. Nightwing glared at the sight of retreating soldiers.

"Nightwing to Delta Squad," he said, his hand over his ear. "Enemy is attempting escape. Request backup."

He smirked when the wall next to Aquaman blew away to reveal Woman Woman and her partner, Wonder Girl. Explosions sounded as Superboy crashed into one of the giant machines before springing onto two more and exploding them as well. His smirk widened. Everyone was working perfectly well together.

Lagoon Boy's scream of anger made his head whip in that direction. He started running forward at the sight of Black Manta preparing to hit the young hero with heat rays. Aquaman beat him to it.

Everyone paused at the clang of helmet bouncing off ground. Black Manta slowly stood, only to reveal that it was… Kaldur? He came to a halt next to the Leaguer.

"I did not believe Nightwing until this moment," Aquaman rasped out, eyes flashing with disbelief.

"You did not want to believe!" the traitor snarled back.

Superboy walked up to stand beside Nightwing. "None of us wanted to believe this! How could you betray us?"

Kaldur's face turned to that of sheer fury. "You dare question me?" He pulled out his water bearers and water swords appeared. "After all of you let Tula die!" Though he spoke to all of them in general, his gaze was locked on Nightwing. He flinched.

"Kaldur it was a mission! Aquagirl knew the risks! No one wanted her to-"

"Neptune's Beard!" Lagoon Boy cut Nightwing off. "Don't coddle this traitor. He has joined forces with the King's greatest enemy!"

"Do you mean the King who hid from me the true identity of my father?" If looks could kill, they'd all be dead ten times over. "This has nothing to do with you, Fish Boy, and everything to do with those who betrayed me."

"That was my poor misjudgment, Kaldur'ahm. No one else needs suffer for it," Aquaman tried to reason.

Nightwing took a step towards the former leader of Young Justice. "Only you can choose who you are. He did not tell you so that you could become your own person."

A glare made him stop in his tracks. "You're one to talk, Nightwing. Aren't you exactly who Batman wanted you to be? Or rather, what your predecessor was unable to be?"

Everyone flinched at that. It was bad enough that they had Jason constantly questioning himself. They didn't need the sudden harsh reminder that they'd thought Dick would've been able to fight Deathstroke on his own while they fought the Injustice League. That Joker would stumble across Dick's unconscious body and take him away before anyone saw what transpired.

"All suffer if Black Manta orders it. Blood is thicker than seawater." A mini rocket shot out from a projector in his shoulder. Superman landed at that moment and took the explosion to the chest. Nightwing took off after Kaldur, jumping down a whole between the wall behind where Kaldur had been and the floor.

Somehow, he'd beaten his old friend to the cave below. "Kaldur," he whispered as the man emerged from.

Kaldur wasn't fazed. "Just you and me, old friend?"

Nightwing was confused for a heartbeat.

"No! It's a regular reunion special."

He inwardly groaned. Of course Superboy had followed them.

The three were so focused on each other that they didn't notice the figure emerging from the shadows on the far wall.

Kaldur let the water fall to the ground. "Fine-"

"Should I have brought some popcorn?"

The three snapped their heads in the direction of the voice. He was about five foot ten inches. He was clad in black kevlar pants and shirt. The sleeves were a dark gray, and the fingers on the gloves were orange. Everything else was all black. Dark brown hair fell just short of his eyes, much like Nightwing's. Green eyes were alight with feigned amusement. A sword rested on his back, the straps of the sheath clipped perfectly together to allow the maximum amount of body movement without jostling the sword. It was obvious that there were several places all along the uniform for things such as knives, guns, and other things of the sort.

There were probably hidden things that the heroes and traitor couldn't see, but Kaldur didn't give the the heroes time to dwell on that. The surprise in his eyes, however, was completely visible. He had not been expecting the newcomer. "You can take me down, or you can save everyone from this bomb." Nightwing drew back in surprise. "I am told the yield is quite impressive."

Superboy ran at Kaldur, and scream of fury building in his throat. Kaldur didn't even have time to react. The newcomer sprung into the Kryptonian's path, delivering what would've been a deadly roundhouse kick to a normal human. Superboy was flung backwards, and before he could even attempt to get up, the newcomer was in his face and stabbing and shard of kryptonite into him. Superboy groaned in agony, his strength leaving him.

The man in black stood up and shot a look at Nightwing that he couldn't identify. "You have two minutes. Use it wisely." Without another word, he took off and jumped into the water, making his escape.

"You heard him," the new person said. "Two minutes." He glanced pointedly at the unconscious Super. "You gonna stop me? Or play hero and save everyone?"

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. This person certainly wasn't in either his or Kaldur's plans. And Kaldur certainly hadn't expected him to be there. So who was he? He'd have to find out later. "Leave."

He waited until the man disappeared into the water before running over to his friend and removing the shade embedded in his side. He tapped into the comm link, entering just in time to hear Supergirl and L'Gonn saying they were going to chase after Kaldur.

"Negative! We have a bomb down here. Alien tech. I cannot disarm it."

"I'll get it out-"

Nightwing shot his hand up, halting the clone in his tracks. "No! It might have pressure or motion sensors. All squads, evacuate to Bioship. Now!" His tone didn't welcome any arguments.

Superboy ran alongside him, emerging from the mountain and racing into the Bioship with everyone else.

Superboy froze. "Wait, where's Superman?"

Batman whirled around. "We don't have time for this. M'Gann, get us out of here!"

They were almost a mile away when the mountain burst into bright light. They weren't far enough out to escape it. Everyone groaned or yelped in pain as a result of being caught in the aftershock.

"Miss Martian, let me down!" Aquaman's voice stood out against the remaining effects of pain. She complied, and he reemerged a minute later with Superman in his arms.

* * *

Kaldur glanced at the newcomer for what was probably the hundredth time. He wanted to ask who this person was so bad, but just didn't know how to ask. He didn't know if everyone else knew his name, and didn't want to appear to be a fool if that were the case. Oh, speak of the devil, here he came.

He extended a hand. "Kaldur'ahm," he greeted. "I've heard much about you."

"Oh? Forgive me, but I do not believe I know your name?" Kaldur glanced around awkwardly, his voice dropping so that no one else could possibly have heard him.

"My apologies. Deathstroke would be deeply disappointed at my rudeness," he chuckled. Kaldur inwardly shuddered. Although he was laughing, there was something in the man's tone that expressed he had been through more than anyone could possibly know. There was almost a dead tone to it, as if he'd cut himself off from feeling any emotion just to survive. "I don't really have a name, but most people call me Shadow."

Kaldur tilted his head to the side, allowing his hand to fall at his side. "You must have a name," he insisted. "Every human has a name."

Shadow raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm human?"

"You're Deathstroke's apprentice, are you not?"

Another chuckle. "I suppose you are right."

"May I call you by your real name or would you prefer to be called Shadow?"

All lightheartedness left the room, making it feel as if all the air had been sucked out as well. It'd changed from both being polite and friendly to completely tense.

A cold-hearted smile crossed Shadow's face. "I believe one must be human to deserve a name."

Kaldur frowned, utterly confused. "I am afraid I do not understand, my friend. Are you not human?"

"Not anymore."

His brow furrowed this time. "So you are now a meta?"

"No."

"I do not understand. How can you not be human anymore but not a meta either?"

Kaldur was sure that the air was removed from the room this time. He regretted asking the question the moment he did. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and was now looking at the two, having sensed the tension.

Shadow leaned forward until his lips were right next to Kaldur's ear. "Do yourself a favor, Kaldur'ahm. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to. You might not hear what you want to hear."

His muscles stiffened as Shadow pulled away. They still had a ways to go before they would meet up with Black Manta, and he didn't want to spend the rest of the trip awkwardly avoiding Deathstroke's apprentice. He forced himself to relax and cracked a small smile.

"You have yet to tell me how you know of me. Do you mind…?"

Shadow returned Kaldur's smile with one of his own. "Of course not. Ever since I became Deathstroke's apprentice, he has been training me to find everything I can about those I meet. So, I know all about you. I know about Tula, your betrayal to the League. And I especially am aware of how you briefly quite the team after the first Nightwing died."

Kaldu froze, his eyes widening. He mentally slapped himself. He had to keep his cool! "You have clearly done your research."

"Just as I'm very well aware that you could provide the Light with the secret identities of every member of the Justice League and Young Justice." He smirked and the gaping mouth in front of him. "Calm down. The Light doesn't care about the secret identities."

"Do you know the names of anyone in the Justice League?" Kaldur frowned. Nightwing was so not going to enjoy hearing about Shadow.

"You'd be surp-" He suddenly cut himself off, seemingly listening intently to something. A slight frown crossed his face. Shadow lifted a finger and placed it on the hidden comm link in his ear. "Understood. I will be there soon, Deathstroke." Another pause, this time a smirk appearing. "I look forward to it. Shadow out." He glanced apologetically at Kaldur. "Sorry. Duty calls. See you around, Kaldur'ahm."

Kaldur started after him. "You did not tell me what you do under Deathstroke's command."

Shadow didn't stop to look at Kaldur on his walk out of the room, but he did tap the handle of his sword, calling over his shoulder, "remember my warning."

The ship came to an abrupt halt shortly after, making Kaldur assume that Shadow was getting off at that moment. He was correct.

Shadow slipped into the cover of an alleyway, turning around to make sure the ship was gone. When he was positive it was, he sprinted towards the meetup place Deathstroke had assigned to him. He could only assume that he was about to be given another contract to complete. After all, what else could he possibly be doing in Blüdhaven? Shadow most certainly wasn't eager to find out if Nightwing had arrived back yet. Better yet, maybe his contract was Nightwing.

He glanced at the holographic computer once more to double check his coordinates. Shadow skidded to a halt and looked up. Lexcorp. Of course. He should've known that it'd be somewhere that the Light controlled.

Shadow pulled out a grappling gun from one of his leg holsters and shot it towards the roof of the tall building. His assassin senses tingled on the way up, making him tense all his muscles mid-flight. The heartbeat he was pulled up, Shadow curled himself into a ball and front flipped to land on the ground, sword in hand. A slight whoosh of air made him jerk to the side and block the incoming blade.

Deathstroke smirked at his apprentice. "Excellent work, Shadow. I assume all went well?"

Shadow nodded. "I do not know if any of the heroes died, but the message was delivered. Not that they'll listen. Heroes never do."

"Excellent. Follow me," he said, pulling out a boombox. "There are some people I want to meet."

Shadow furrowed his eyebrows at the cold, familiar feeling of being transported via a boombox. He did not expect what he saw next.

Vandal Savage, Ra's al Ghul, Lex Luthor, Queen Bee, the Brain, and Klarion all froze in the middle of their heated discussion and looked at the two newcomers. Ra's stood up and walked over to them.

"This," he said, putting a hand on Shadow's shoulder, "is the new assassin that I've been telling you about. But," he added, "there is more to him them what meets the eye."

Four set of eyes quietly studied him, taking note of the well toned muscles and tenseness of the boy. He was certainly ready to attack anyone who dare threaten his master.

"Relax, boy," Savage purred. "You are among friends here." He looked directly as Ra's. "Well, are you going to tell us who he is? Or are you just going to stand there?"

"Of course. This is Shadow, though most of you may know him to be someone else. Shadow, if you would."

Shadow instantly pulled the the neck part of his uniform to reveal a small necklace. He took it off. Everyone, minus Deathstroke and Ra's, gasped.

A collected murmur of, "Nightwing!" sounded and Klarion looked about ready to cast a spell.

Ra's continued. "You all know him to be Nightwing, the detective's first sidekick." Shadow didn't even flinch. Instead, he put his hand behind his back and held them together. "However, the Joker caught him about two years ago and killed him. This is the mission that we hired him for and he ditched the plan. I did not intend for such a thing to happen. While everyone was still grieving, I replaced the body with a replica and put him in the Lazareth Pit, intending to bring him back and return him to the Batman. Things did not work out so well. He turned into a crazed lunatic. Deathstroke found him, and Shadow begged to be trained in his ways." He paused to read everyone's expressions. Savage looked slightly interested, a slow smile creeping up his face. " I assure you, he is loyal to both me and the Light. He will serve us well as whatever you need him to be."

Savage stood up and strode over to him. Shadow watched him the entire time, awaiting whatever beheld of him. He leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with Shadow. "Welcome to the Light. Do not make us regret it."

"You won't."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hey! I finally updated, aha!**

 **Theunknown4299: the reason his name is Shadow instead of Renegade in because renegade literally means traitor. So it wouldn't be that hard for the heroes to figure out who he is, or at least that he used to be a hero himself, and that's something neither I nor he wants. Otherwise, I would go with Renegade, but yeah.**

* * *

Several days passed before Kaldur met Shadow again. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell Nightwing about him. Between his father officially becoming a member of the Light and planning the next attack on the heroes, he just hadn't the time.

In the time that Kaldur had not seen the newest threat to the League, he'd had the time to create a flash drive containing all the information he knew. It wasn't much, seeming as the Light still needed proof that he was on their side, but it was better than nothing. He'd spent hours trying to figure out just who Shadow was, almost being tempted enough to hack into the League's computers -the first Nightwing had taught him how when he'd told the team his identity- just to find out. A came, a similar face, anything! Nothing had showed, however. It was as if the man didn't exist to the world. That, or he was a dead man walking.

The sound of the door made him turn away from the window showing the brilliant lights of Blüdhaven. Rather than the uniform he had worn the previous week, Shadow was now clad in black sweatpants and a tank top, though the sword was still attached to his back. Kaldur's sharp, stony eyes took in the tense arms and stoic posture. Shadow had the same, somewhat emotionless eyes. It took much of Kaldur's inner strength to not flinch at the lack of emotion in the man's brown orbs.

"Kaldur," he greeted.

"Shadow," came the steady reply. "Excuse me if I am wrong, but is there a reason you are here? No one boards the ship without good reason."

"Can't I just want some company?" Shadow asked. Kaldur simply raised an eyebrow. Shadow's face grew serious again. "Deathstroke and the Light want us to start working together. Any missions you go on, I follow. But before we can do that, we must see how well we can work together. My mentor and your father have set up a training area for us to begin training. No, I don't know what it is or where we are going," he added when Kaldur opened his mouth.

"So you are my bodyguard?" he challenged. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Not bodyguard," Black Manta's voice sounded from behind Shadow he stepped aside to allow the Light member enter the room. "More like partners. With your combined skills, you two should make a dangerous foe against the Justice League."

"Ra's and Deathstroke agreed with Black Manta when he requested such a thing," Shadow added with a respectful dip of his head towards the older man. "I will relay all the information to you that I know on our way to the spot."

"Very well. Goodbye, Father," Kaldur said, giving his father a smile.

Black Manta walked forward and put his hands on Kaldur's shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. "I know you will do well. Make me proud, son."

That was how Kaldur now found himself on the backseat of Shadow's motorcycle and on their way to Gotham City. He'd groaned when Shadow told him the where, stating that he hated all of the Bats, particularly Nightwing, claiming they were the main cause of Tula's death. Shadow had reassured him that they shouldn't even come across the three. He even admitted that he'd been stalking the 'Bat family' for quite some time and said that Batman had left along with other members of the League to Rimbor. And that Nightwing was taking up the Batman mantle so that no one suspected a thing.

He had refused to state how he knew all of that.

Shadow stopped the bike about three blocks from the city. He parked it underneath some rocks and dumped a bunch of leaves from a bag in his hands. Shadow dropped the bags, patted his hands to get rid of any excess leaves and turned back to Kaldur.

"The Light is giving us this simple test: Earlier today, Deathstroke went and put our target in the waiting area. We must finish the job and end him. Normally, we leave the other villains alone, but this one in particular has ruined the Light's plans one too many times."

Kaldur raised an eyebrow, his eyes cold and calculating. "Could Deathstroke not have finished the job himself?"

"Yes, but he was told to set traps for us within the building. We must figure them out, evade or destroy them, and finish the mission." Shadow pulled up a holographic map from the computer in his glove. He pointed to one of the tallest apartment buildings in the city, the map zooming into the topmost floor. "He awaits his death here. Should Nightwing and his teammates arrive, you are to go into the east side of the city. Lose whoever follows you and return here. I'll go west. Only fight them if you must. The Light wants us to return to them as soon as possible."

Kaldur nodded. "And who is to take charge? You?"

Shadow shook his head. "We are a team, remember? There will be skills that both of us have individually. Whatever trap lay, the person with the most knowledge will take over."

"I believe we can make it work," Kaldur agreed. He could've sworn he saw a glint of a smirk cross the assassin's face, but it was gone before he was certain.

They were at the building in less than ten minutes, only taking brief pauses when they saw the outlines of Batman, Robin, and Batgirl roaming the rooftops of streets, searching for any crime. Little did the bats know, they were about to give the biggest chase they'd had in months.

"We should split up and find separate ways up," Shadow whispered to the older man.

"Why is that?" Kaldur whispered back.

"No offense, but you'll just slow me down on the way up." His eyes widened at the glare sent his way. Shadow lifted up his hands up in a defensive position, his body posture saying, 'give me a chance to explain.' Kaldur leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "I'm good at the acrobatic stuff. You… not so much. You're a much heavier build than I. It'll be quicker if you find your own way up rather than me turning around to help you." He pointed towards the alleyway across from them, "There should be sets of stairs over there. You go that way, I'll climb, and when you're ready, I'll toss my grappling hook across to you."

Kaldur raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed, though he was beginning to relax. "And why can't I just use it now?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Shadow's brown eyes flickered in amusement. "There are other people inside the building. We cannot afford for them to discover us."

He didn't waste another second, unwilling to sacrifice the mission for a chance to take out the intended target. Permantately. No jail. No Arkam Asylum. Just death.

The climb up was fairly simple. The broken stairs on the side provided the perfect leaping and grabbing areas. It felt good for Dick to stretch his muscles again. It was a much different experience when you were preparing to commit a crime and escape than to give chase. The thrill he got every time was his favorite part. But more than that, this was his chance to soar like he used to nearly a decade ago. It was his reminder that he was sane.

The only noise heard in the night sky were very faint patters of feet leaping to the next leverage point. But even then, a person would have to put intense focus into hearing things to notice it.

 _"When you get there, there will be a red helmet for you. I expect you to put it on. Should you be caught for any reason, you don't need to be well-known by GCPD."_

Deathstroke's words echoed in his head, and sure enough, when he reached the window, there it was, right next to the window. It fit comfortably on his head, the bottom of it covering his previously exposed neck. A small computer covered his right eye, the lenses on the outside narrowing along with Dick's eyes. The computer turned to night vision so he could see

A dark grey jacket had been folded underneath it. He instantly put it on and noted all the small weapons expertly hidden within its confines. Taking out a knife hidden in his left sleeve, Dick carefully observed it. It was jagged along the hilt and curved up to its pointed tip. He experimentally pushed it into the wall, all the while keeping an eye out for Kaldur to approach. He smirked at how little pressure he had to apply to push it through the wall.

A smirk graced his lips. That knife was the one. The one he'd designed to cut through Batman's titanium cords. It'd taken months to perfect. To make the perfect knife. But Ra's and Deathstroke had been patient enough to wait and give him time to make his own tools. Everything he used was made by him. The only exceptions being the smoke bombs he had Deathstroke would use on special assignments. Those were created by the mercenary.

A scowl crossed his face, though no one would be able to tell with the red hood on. Kaldur should be here by now. At the very least, the older man should be on the roof of the building across from the apartments. What was taking him so long?

What came next made him snarl out loud. Three shadowed figures stalked across the rooftop across from Shadow and halted at the edge. Capes billowed out to the side, the wind making everything appear overly dramatic. A flash of lightning lit the entire city and the assassin in black with a red helmet glaring at two people in cowls and one in a regular mask.

The girl spoke up first, her voice sending an unwelcomed thrill running down Shadow's spine (not that he'd ever admit that). "And who might you be? No-wait. Let me guess. You call yourself the Red Hood?"

He tilted his head to the side, his mind racing. He'd heard that name. "... Something like that, yeah. But no." his tone dropped to an intense anger when it clicked. The Joker's first alias.

Robin spoke up. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the detective here." White lenses narrowed into what could've been either a glare or holding back a chuckle. It was impossible to tell without being able to see his face. "I'm sure you can figure it out… or have you lost that ability when your mentor died?"

Robin scowled and pointed at the fake Batman. "He's right here."

This time, all three Bats heard a slight laugh. "We both know that's not who I'm talking about."

"Nightwing is in Bl-"

Anything that could have represented a civil conversation disappeared in a heartbeat. "'Nightwing' is standing to your left." He relished the widened masks of the three vigilantes. "Please, I've know since the moment Batman left Earth. And that wasn't the Nightwing I was referring to, either. I was talking about the original."

Something inside Robin snapped, and he shot his grappling hook into the wall just outside the window Shadow stood in. He didn't stick around to see if the other two were following. Instead, he turned, furious with himself for not completing the mission and not knowing where Kaldur disappeared to, and ran straight down the narrow hallway. Three sets of footsteps pounding on the ground confirmed his suspicions. In his haste, he nearly tripped on a wire and water began to cover the ground.

His eyes widened and he ran faster than he'd ever ran before, reaching the other side of the building and landing lightly on the windowsill moments before the water lit up with electricity. He glanced behind him, seeing two of the three heroes holding themselves away from the water by supporting themselves with their hands and feet pushing up against the walls, made eye contact with Batgirl, waved, and burst through the window. Glass shattered all around him, though none cut through his skin.

Robin was ready for him, jumping off the rooftop and tackling Shadow before the taller teen could completely roll to his feet from his landing on the stairs.

The boy's brows were so clearly furrowed under his mask as he pinned Shadow to the ground. "What do you know?" he spat out.

"More than you dare to believe," he responded, his words holding more meaning than Robin understood."

"Tell me what you know about Nightwing!"

Shadow brought his legs up and in one fluid movement, wrapped them around the younger's neck and slammed his back onto the metal. A grunt escaped Robin as the air was expelled from his chest.

A red hood leaned down so their masks were mere millimeters apart. "I know he's dead." It was so bluntly said that Robin couldn't help but flinch.

"You're wrong," he weakly argued.

"And I was once a superhero," he retorted. "I fought him before and-" Shadow broke off at the familiar whoosh of a cape and dove off the platform before Batgirl or 'Batman' could get a good grip on him.

He landed on the roof of the apartment complex next to the one he'd been on minutes ago, sprinting away the moment he rolled to his feet. He was about three quarters of the way across when he heard a batarang whirring towards him.

Shadow took another step forwards before leaping up into the air, twisting his upper body to turn around and grab the weapon before twisting his body the other way to throw it right back at the trio. His feet landed back on the ground and he pulled a grappling hook out of his coat before firing it up at a looming building in front of him.

On his descent upwards, he heard Robin say, "Oh, he is good!" Shadow smirked.

The chase continued for about half an hour until finally, they came to what appeared to be a dead end. They were on the balcony of a very long building and Shadow was running out of space. Single cord hung about twenty feet away where a crane towered over what Shadow knew to be a train station.

He put on a new spurt of speed, ignoring an exclamation of, "We've got him!" and leaped off the edge with all his strength. The sound of a grappling hook shot out behind him. Jason had used it in hopes of it wrapping around the assassin's ankles so they could jerk him back.

Shadow let the knife he'd slid into his sleeve fall into his hand, curling himself into a position only an acrobat possibly could, and cut the titanium before it could tighten around him. He uncurled in time to grab onto the rope and swing himself down to the glass far below.

Up above, two people in bat costumes, one male and the other female, were desperately looking around them, trying to see where their little bird had disappeared to. They looked down to the glass rooftop and saw him stalking along the top, trying to find the assassin hiding inside.

Shadow carefully observed Robin as the fourteen year old landed in a crouch feet away. The bird was glancing around, his eyes trying to find the man in red and black.

"What do you know about Nightwing?" he demanded, repeating his question from earlier. Silence. And then: _"_ _What do you know?"_ this time the question borderlined hysterical.

Shadow chose that moment to step out of the shadows, knives in hand. "Never show the enemy you're upset. It reveals your weakness," he criticized.

Robin pulled out his bo staff and swung it at Shadow. "Don't lecture me!"

Shadow merely performed a quick backspring to avoid the attack. "I'm not lecturing," he corrected, "I'm advising." This time, Shadow let the swing connect. He rolled with the blow, grasping the bo staff and yanking it out of the smaller boy's grip. He let it slide across the dark room.

Feigning an attack with the knife in his left hand, Shadow quickly kicked Robin in the stomach. When Robin doubled over, Shadow brought his knee up and slammed it into Robin's head. Robin fell backwards onto his butt and held a hand to his nose, pulling it away to see blood..

"I can train you," he said.

Robin glared at him and stood up. "I already have a mentor," he snarled with enough fury that would make Batman proud.

"Who? The replacement Nightwing or Batman?" Shadow scoffed. "If you're talking about the replacement, I feel sorry for you."

Robin charged forward again, throwing punch after punch, along with the occasional kick. Shadow remained on the defense, even allowing the boy to land a couple hits. After a short while, he decided enough was enough, and shoved Robin back with all his strength.

"You're good," Shadow acknowledged, "But not good enough." He was running forward before even finishing the sentence.

Robin wasn't fast enough to avoid the blows raining down on him. He froze with anger when a particularly harsh kick to the ribs sent him crashing into the wall. The assassin had been holding back the entire time! But then he was frozen for a different reason. _What if he was_ still _holding back?_

Shadow stalked towards the downed bird. Robin rose to meet him. They exchanged numerous blows until Shadow delivered a painful roundhouse kick directly to Robin's sternum. The Boy Wonder crashed the the ground, gasping for breath.

Spotting Shadow standing in front of his feet, Robin attempted to back handspring away from the man. The assassin merely stood on the black and yellow cape to take Robin down again. However this time, when Robin landed on his back, Shadow grabbed his right arm and twisted it. Hard. Robin screamed at the feeling on his shoulder being dislocated.

Shadow, however, didn't seem to care. He grabbed Robin's other arm to bring him back to his feet.

"W-what do you want from me?" Robin spluttered.

The assassin calmly assessed the damage he'd done to the boy. At least one cracked rib, the dislocated shoulder, potentially a broken nose, several bruises exposed where the costume has been torn, and a nasty looking bruise beginning to form on Robin's neck from all the attacks aimed there.

"I can make you better, Robin," he murmured. "I've watched you for quite some time. You have so much… potential."

Robin's masked eyes widened. "What?" Shadow was still holding him up from the arm.

The man in the red hood lenses seemed to pierce through him very soul. Robin nearly jumped at the eery laugh the assassin offered. "Believe it or not, not everything is about your mentor… no, no, no. I'm far more interested in you."

"Why not Batman?" he challenged weakly.

"Batman is the means to an end. Just a man growing old," Shadow dismissed. "But you… you are so much more. You have so much to offer and you don't even realize it! Let me train you, Robin, and I promise that I can make you the greatest person you can possibly be. So, what do you say?" Both went dead silent at the sound of Batgirl and 'Batman' landing on the roof above. "You must decide now."

Robin curled his face into a grimace. "I'll never join you."

The assassin's lenses narrowed impossibly thin. "Very well." He drew his free hand back and punched Robin directly in the throat before backing into the shadows. "If you change your mind, find me."

Jason and Barbara arrived moments after Shadow left. Their eyes instantly landed on the gasping bird writhing on the ground below them. "Robin! Are you okay!"

"Yeah… just fine…" he managed between gasps, eyes not leaving where he'd last seen the assassin. He'd never even learned the man's name. "Who… who was he?"

Jason scowled and followed Tim's line of sight. "... I don't know. But he won't get away with this, I promise you."

* * *

Shadow and Kaldur currently stood in front of Deathstroke and Black Manta in Deathstroke's main workplace. Shadow had returned to the bike to see Kaldur by it. When he'd demanded to know what happened, Kaldur stated that the Bats had circled back and seen Shadow jump into the apartment. Kaldur then said that he'd run back to the meeting place, not willing to get himself caught. Shadow had held back a snarl of rage and the ride back had been dead silent. The only other words Shadow told Kaldur was to go along with what he told Deathstroke.

That was how they found themselves being frowned upon. They knew the mission was a failure.

" _What_. _Happened_ ," the older assassin growled, his voice promising punishment.

Shadow stepped forward. "It was my fault," he began, his brown eyes staring directly into Deathstroke's single eye. "I miscalculated the patrol the Bats were going to take. The replacement decided to take a different route. They caught me breaking in-"

"Where was Kaldur'ahm during this?" Black Manta interrupted.

"I had him take the stairs on the building across from me. He would have held me back if he followed my path." He paused so the men knew he was done answering that and ready to continue with the debrief. "They only saw me going in through the window. Luckily, I'd already put on the helmet and jacket," he gestured to the items laying on the floor beside him as he spoke. "Kaldur hadn't yet scaled his building so he hid when he heard them talking to me. I led them away, but the damage had already been done. The mission had already failed. It was entirely my fault," he concluded.

Deathstroke's lip curled and without turning to Black Manta, he commanded, "Take the boy and get out of here."

Once they were gone, he glared at Dick with so much loathing that he was already removing his shirt before he was ordered to. _"_ _Get. Down."_

Dick crouched down on his knees and leaned down to the ground, revealing numerous scars criss-crossing down his back. Far too many to count. Dick removed the necklace, and he turned back into the boy that died and was brought back. His eyes turned completely blank, barely even noticing when the whip slammed into his back, ripping skin open. Blue orbs completely uninterested, only watching the ground as drips of blood turned into a small puddle.

He back suddenly arched when a crowbar slammed right into a spot where the Joker himself had hit him the night he'd died.

Inside the apartment complex Gotham, the Joker, tied to a chair in the middle of the room, laughed monomaniacally, unsure to even himself why he was. The door busted open, Batman and Batgirl quickly taking him back to Arkham, not even bothering with the questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey! I finally updated, aha! I'm reuploading his death because I ended up deciding that I didn't like how it initially was, and this new one will play a major role throughout the rest of the story. You'll understand why shortly, lol. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Blue eyes stared up at the crazed man looming above him from his position on his knees on the floor. The crazed man pulled back his hands as if holding a baseball bat and swung it at the seventeen year old's chin. It met with a sickening thud, throwing the younger man a few feet away and down on his back.

Blood red lips puckered up to whistle in awe before stretching into a demented grin. "So you really _do_ fly, after all," he commented over the pained cough that shook the other's frame.

Gloveless hands bound behind his back kept his back arched up into an uncomfortable position from his new spot on the floor. He coughed again, small droplets of blood spraying from his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to ignore the agony that shot across his now bruised jaw.

A foot suddenly slammed down onto the boy's solar plexus, making his eyes snap open, all the air forced from his lungs as he struggled. The booted foot grinded down further, making him halt all actions, not wanting to be the cause of his own death.

A white-painted face leered down at him before backing away and taking a step back. The boy gasped for air.

"Ooh, that looked like it hurt." That crazed grin seemed to stretch wider if at all possible.

The boy ignored him, choosing instead to try to controlled his haggard breathing. He found out that that was a mistake a moment later when another blow from the crowbar smashed into his scapula. Another agonized grunt escaped him, which number he knew not of; he'd lost count of how many times he'd grunted after… well… about halfway through the beating. He'd lost track of time after the first hour.

"Wait, that looked like it hurt a lot more."

Ugh, that voice just seemed to bounce around through a fuzzy mind. Eyelids slid shut, allowing the boy to think.

Was anyone coming for him? They had to know he was missing by now; he had rushed out in the middle of the battle to chase after the crazed clown, after all. He couldn't have just let him get away! Too little, too late, he'd realized he'd been lured into a trap. Harley's hammer(although she hadn't been there, he was more than sure, otherwise she'd be here now) was the last thing he'd seen before being sent into unconsciousness.

One gloved hand pulling him up by the collar of his uniform and jerked him upwards, making his body ache in protest. Pearl white teeth contrasted the horrid smell of the Joker's breath. He nearly gagged on the scent itself. "Why so serious, Bird Boy?" the Joker questioned, his usual smirk fading into a frown. Nightwing didn't know which was more scary; Joker's smirk that always indicated ill-intent, or the frown.

He decided to smirk. He needed to play the Joker's game for now. "Since when am I ever serious?"

Joker's smile returned. "This is what I've missed!" he exclaimed. "You, me, and Mr. Crowbar here!" he lifted the crowbar up as he spoke. "And this time, Batsy won't be interrupting our fun ol' game!" Joker laughed, dropping Nightwing in the process of doubling over.

Nightwing tried to at least land somewhat gracefully, but he only succeeded in twisting his own wrist, much to his dismay.

The crowbar rested underneath his throat. "I wanna know something, Bird Boy."

The hero tilted his head to the side. "What's that?"

An angry look appeared in the Joker's eyes. "Why did you leave the Bat?" he demanded. "After he gave you _everything_! How could you leave his wing?"

He attempted to shrug but failed miserably. "What can I say? Birds don't like being caged for too long. It was time for me to- ack!" he was cut off with the piece of metal being pressed into his neck and cutting off his air supply.

A dangerous look flashed across Joker's face. "Well some birds just need to stay in their cage. And your cage is right here with me-your Uncle J!" The man concluded his mini speech with an agonizing hit to Nightwing's stomach.

The younger rolled onto his side and spat out a mouthful of blood as well as some vomit.

"You know, that's just rude," the Joker's voice rang through Nightwing's head. "Some person was courteous to build this warehouse and here you are rudely spilling blood and vomit over the floors. I guess that leaves me with the cleanup job. Do you know what that means?" He leaned back and smacked the boy in the center of his back, forcing him to roll onto his front. Joker jumped up and drove a knee directly onto the boy's spinal cord. Both males felt something shift in the younger's back. "Let's try to clear something up, okay pumpkin? What hurts more; A… or B…"

'A' was a repeat of knee to spine, whereas 'B' was a devastating attack from the crowbar on the same spot. Nightwing nearly gave an answer when the Joker grasped the neck of his uniform and hoisted him up into a slouched kneeling position. Nightwing fought for breath the whole way while trying to focus on anything but the agony coursing through his back, directly above his left lung.

Nightwing glared up at the man standing above him. "Fuck you," he managed to gasp between short breaths. Battered lungs refused to allow him to take one good breath of air.

The Joker crouched down beside him. "Well that wasn't very nice. Did Batsy teach you to say that?" He made a mock frown to counter the glare sent at him.

Collecting the blood entering his mouth, Nightwing pulled his head up and spat it at the man in such a way that Jason would be proud of. Bulls-eye.

The Joker, on the other hand, wasn't very pleased at all. He grabbed Nightwing's hair and slammed his face into the ground with all his strength. Nightwing almost cried out at the familiar sensation of his nose breaking upon impact. Blood began to gush from his nose.

Joker stood back up, wiping the blood on his face off with a handkerchief he produced from the inside of his purple suit. "Now that was rude. You at least had some manners from when you were still the Boy Blunder. The first Bird Boy." Nightwing tilted his head to the side to smile at his enemy, revealing bloody teeth. "I suppose I'm going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in the old you's footsteps. But for that I'll need a new toy…" He broke off, squinting and eye shut, pulling his lips towards his left cheek and looking up with his right eye.

Both eyes looked back down at the younger man, a smile blooming on his face once more. He raised both hands and pulled back as much as he could. "Nah, I'm just gonna keep beating you." One foot planted between Nightwing's shoulder blades, pushing him down fully onto his back. He groaned when he felt his spinal cord scrape together.

Blue eyes met green, though no words were spoken. His muddied mind didn't work fast enough to allow him to prepare for the inevitable. A scream tore his throat when two ribs cracked under the same blow, leaving him heaving for air once more that his abused lungs wouldn't allow.

"Oh, so now you decide to sing for me?" God, Nightwing was really starting to hate sarcastic people.

"They'll…" he broke off, trying to get enough air through to at least retain some of his dignity.

"They'll… what? They'll what?" Joker's sadistic smile burned even brighter, if that was possible. He knew he had the boy beat. He was just humoring himself at this point.

"I'd… prefer if you didn't… use me as your main source of… amusement at this point.," Nightwing's voice barely made it to the Joker's ears, but he understood what the bird was saying.

"Just… just kill me already." This was it. Nightwing had given up. He didn't care how it ended. Whether it be him being saved by the League or by the Joker just ending it, he just wanted the pain to stop.

Joker smacked the crowbar twice in his hands, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I totally would." A flicker of hope flared inside Nightwing. He should've known better. "But where's the fun in that?"

He suddenly paused, a smile wider than should even be possible spreading across his face. The Clown Prince of Crime disappeared from the broken bird's view for a few seconds before returning. Nightwing had tilted his head to the side to try to keep an eye on him. This time, instead of holding a crowbar, a three foot long, thick steel pole was in the Killer Clown's hands.

The Clown Prince of Crime lifted his arms, pulled back, and crashed the merciless pole down onto the vigilante's head. Stars burst into Nightwing's eyes and everything went black for numerous seconds. When those cerulean eyes opened again, everything remained distorted and he had trouble remembering why he was laying on the ground.

A white hand reached his vision, though the action of the hand waving back and forth turned into two hands that moved at a snail's pace.

Something red dripped into his eye, though his reaction of trying to blink it away was far too slow of a reaction; he began blinking thirty seconds after the initial intrusion in his pupil.

A voice echoed through his mind but he couldn't place a name to it and the words registered later than they should've. "Holy shit! I can literally see your skull! You still okay down there? You still alive, Bird Brain?"

 _Bird Brain_. That name sounded familiar, but he couldn't think of where or why he'd heard it before.

"I have an idea!" Again with that scarily familiar voice. "Let's role play Lord of the Flies! You can be Simon and I'll be the hunters!"

The boy vaguely recognized the feeling of sickening thuds echoing around in his mind, but he felt nothing. One particular crack of his ribcage sent the boy tumbling back into unconsciousness.

Joker sighed again before walking away. The sound of footsteps getting quieter told him that. Hands rummaged for a winter coat. "Anyways, I gotta go. But it's been fun though, right?" Absolute quiet. "Maybe not for you but I'm just guessing because you're all quiet. Anyways, remember to do your homework, eat a good dinner, and be in bed by nine." A door slammed shut.

The boy awoke five minutes later and sprung into action. He slowly rolled onto his back, whimpering in agony with every movement as what was left of his ribcage put throbbing pressure on the shattered section. Actually somersaulting so that he could get his hands in front of him was one hundred times worse.

Attempting to stand up was out of the question. Between his absolutely battered, weary body and the rapidly growing pool below him, the boy just knew he wouldn't be conscious for much longer. So he resorted to crawling. His teeth were clenched the entire time, eyes flashing with pure anguish the whole way.

It took a while to reach the door, but he'd never felt so relieved in his life. That feeling dissipated in a heartbeat. The door was locked, probably by a padlock on the outside. Without his boots, gloves, or utility belt, the boy knew he stood no chance. He'd have to wait for someone to find him first. That, or die of blood loss.

He hoisted himself up into a sitting position, back to the door, and closed his weary eyes, trying his damnest to not look at the trail of blood he'd left in his wake. It was sickening. A faint ticking noise that he hadn't noticed in his brain before made him reopen them. Blue eyes widened in fear. The timer of the bomb read ten seconds. Guilt washed over him. He stared at it, completely dumbfounded and in shock. " _So all of my efforts weren't even worth it._ "

Two seconds left. The teen closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Yet nothing prepared him for the split second of being burned alive, his entire body catching fire, before he knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

Deathstroke looked at the young man he'd trained for the last two years. "Remember the objective," he reminded the other.

Shadow gave the older man an incredulous look. "As if I'd forget," he snapped hotly. "We've been planning this night for the past two months. Besides, there's always plan B if A fails-"

"It won't" Deathstroke interrupted. "Green Arrow has been carefully watching these men for quite some time. My calculations show that he's planning on attacking tonight. Ryan Chase is our top priority tonight."

Without supplying an answer, Shadow glanced once more at the abandoned building a mile from the city. One lone light was barely visible from a window that was slightly uncovered window. Beside from that, the area surrounding the small building was completely dark and promising danger and harm to any unlucky soul that were to stumble across the meeting taking place inside. Behind the two mercenaries was the city in which Oliver Queen resided. It was no secret to Deathstroke-who hated Green Arrow more than anything-who his greatest enemy was. In fact, the older mercenary didn't ask of Shadow to reveal any of the superhero's secret identities. Neither had the Light-yet. When he asked about it, Deathstroke simply stated that it was more fun for him to figure it out himself than to be told. The last time that Shadow had witnessed a man give Deathstroke unwanted information was the last mission they'd gone on together. That male had found a bullet between his eyes faster than his brain could have even processed the infuriated look sprawling across Deathstroke's face.

Out of the corner of his eye Shadow, who was donned in his black uniform completed with a mask this time rather than a necklace that changed his appearance, saw Deathstroke clench his hand into a fist. It was his way of saying, 'move out.'

The two moved faster than should be possible, both wanting to ensure that their job was finished long before Green Arrow arrived. They'd need the pests out of the way so that they had plenty of time to work.

Deathstroke stepped back and away from the door to let Shadow break it open; the young male was turning into quite the thief and right here and now was Deathstroke's chance to see that. He was, after all, the man training the young assassin.

Shadow took a good, long look at the doorknob. When he listened close enough he could just make out the sounds of unintelligible shouts coming from somewhere inside the house-presumably the basement. _How cliché_. At least that meant that there could only be so many guards on the upper floor. Shadow's ear pricked and he turned his head to look at an upper corner of the house. He squinted his eyes. Deathstroke, sensing that his apprentice wasn't just looking at the house for the sake of looking at it, followed the young male's gaze, his own eyes narrowing in anger. He stalked away to disable the camera. He'd watch his apprentice some other time.

The more experienced mercenary darted along the side of the building while being sure that the orange side of his mask was pressed against the wall. He didn't need a guard potentially seeing him. That is, even if there was one. As trained and advanced as he was, Deathstroke was not a meta and simply could not tell if there were any guards inside at all. He nearly scoffed at himself. Shadow's enhanced 'bat paranoia,' as he'd called it, that had never gone away from his time with the bat seemed to be rubbing off onto Deathstroke. He'd prefer to not be anything like Batman. Neither did Shadow. It was something both men had agreed to when a newly reincarnated Dick Grayson had stumbled upon him and demanded he train him to be a killer.

Justice was flawed. Who was mankind to decide what was right and what was wrong? Someone with no flaws at all should've been the one to decide and yet here humanity was. Flawed, disgraced, outrageous. Everyone makes mistakes. In the past, present and most certainly in the future. Who did the Justice League and their team of pathetic sidekicks think they were to decide if a man or woman was guilty of doing something bad. Everyone sees thing differently, after all.

Deathstroke pulled out his electric gun and fired it up at the camera. Blue electricity shot out and disabled the camera, even going so far as to knock it off where it'd been and to the ground.

He turned back towards his apprentice to find the young man staring at him with an impatient look. The door was opened just the slightest bit so that a thin trail of light leaked out and exposed part of the dark night behind.

Deathstroke slipped into the house and checked out the surroundings before signaling for Shadow to follow. They were in a living room by the looks of it. A small television sat on a table in the middle of the room, facing the two men. Directly to their left was the couch. Dust covered both pieces of furnature and a noticeable curve on one of the cushions showed the owner's favorite spot to sit. A hallway was at the end of the room and from what both men could see, a door at the end was opened.

Shadow tapped Deathstroke on the shoulder and the older man turned. The assassin-in-training nodded toward the door at the end of the hallway before tipping his head to the side. Deathstroke nodded.

Crouching down to minimize the amount of sound that would echo off the floor from their feet, the duo crept forward toward the opened door at the end of the hallway. Shadow had just reached the entrance to the corridor when a toilet flushed and both men jerked backward and pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the entrance.

A whistle carried down the hallway and slowly became louder. The sound of shoes slapping on floor echoed down to the assassins' ears. Deathstroke nodded at Shadow, who crouched down and practically smashed himself against his wall to disappear from Deathstroke's vision.

The man, who could've been no older than thirty, made his appearance. An automatic gun rested against his shoulder and a bored look was on his face. He caught sight of Deathstroke after five seconds and opened his mouth to give out an alarm, the gun falling into both hands as he prepared to shoot. He never got the chance.

Shadow shot out from the dark and wrapped an arm around the male's throat, cutting off his air supply while Deathstroke disarmed him and unloaded the firearm.

Shadow crouched down so that the guard's back was painfully bent against Shadow's. In one solid movement Shadow jerked the arm that held the guard's neck. A quiet snap signified that the man was dead and Shadow carefully leaned back to rest the dead male on the ground without making a noise.

He stood and leaned back to crack his back, taking careful notice of the way Deathstroke observed the body. Deathstroke looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, questioning why he took so long in the kill. Shadow shrugged and stepped toward the hallway.

There were no more guards. After checking the whole house but the basement for one, It took a full minute for the two assassins to find the door leading to the basement. It hadn't even been in the hallway. Just a door in a room that had once been the kitchen.

Both mercenaries had their guns pulled, ready to kill the mobsters, but they weren't in the room. There was another door in which all the other men were in. Coneniently there was a vent in the wall above and to the left of the yellow brick road.

 _Again,_ Shadow thought in his boredom, _so cliché._ To be completely honest, Shadow had almost put a bullet through his skull at their luck. And to put even more salt into the wound, Deathstroke told him to wait five minutes before following through the vent.

Shadow withheld a groan and sat back against the wall. A pistol rested loosely in his hand and a few knives that were cleverly hidden into his uniform dug uncomfortably into his sides. But he didn't care. It felt good to actually _feel_ something again. He'd blocked away emotions like happiness and all those other fun and nice ones to prevent himself from getting attached to anything long ago. That left only anger and broodiness. Not the broodiness like Batman, of course. Shadow couldn't stand the guy. Anything he'd once felt towards his first mentor had turned to hatred. And his confession to Black Canary ages ago still stood. Sure, he might have the attitude of Batman, but he was no Batman. He killed. Batman didn't. He didn't feel anything but negativity. Batman did, as much as the man may try to deny it. He was willing to-

Enough about Batman-

What would he think of Shadow today? Would he be sad? Disappointed? Angry? Probably all three. After all, Shadow was a dead man walking. After all, he was _the_ Batman's greatest failure and-

Shadow tore his glove off and bit his hand hard enough to draw a thin line of blood to distract himself from those thoughts. He had more important things to think about. Oh yeah. Back to the not feeling anything lately.

Pain was the hardest thing that he'd worked on to eliminate. Pain meant weaknes. Pain represented the lack of strength required to do what is necessary to succeed. He'd spent six months working on getting rid of that nuisance. Now he only felt a small flicker of the unwanted feeling. But even then it depended on how hard the blow was or if he'd been caught in the lucky spot. Well, actually spot _s_. There were two, but it was extremely hard for him to be hit there.

He owed those thanks to Joker. He'd do that next time they met face-to-face. When Joker was the person on the ground with a busted open head and a flail chest. Both thanks to that damn steel pole he'd used at the end of their playtime, as he'd put it. The twisted clown had called it playtime.

Shadow had to be hit right on the areas where those fatal blows had fallen for him to feel pure agony. He didn't know why, but those two strikes had caused enough damage to travel with him back to Earth when he'd been resurrected. In fact, his skin was permanently disfigured so that the once flawless skin was slightly purplish and black at the center. So faintly there that only someone who knew to specifically look for it could see it.

Shadow tasted copper in his mouth and removed his hand, watching it in fixation fascination. It was obvious where he'd bitten. Not only because of the red outline of his blood, but also because the indentations of his teeth had torn through the skin so that it left an imprint. "Huh." He'd never bitten that hard before…

He held back a sigh. Deathstroke had been irritated with him for a while now-in fact, ever since his failed mission with Kaldur one month ago-and he didn't know why. The older man had a much shorter temper with him and often didn't him have his usual Sundays off. Those were the only days of the week where he could train if he wanted, though it wasn't required. He could sit back and relax. He wasn't even forced to go out on assignments if Deathstroke signed the contract for one. He'd just go on his own.

So what if he'd take a very small pause during his training to talk to one of the other assassins? They were just swapping ideas and suggestions. Deathstroke did have Shadow in training to fight and be able to switch from one style, such as acrobatic avoiding, to street brawler attacks in a heartbeat. It couldn't possibly hurt him that much to learn from the other shadows, right?

Ever since he'd come back from the dead he'd wondered what it was like to die a slow death. What it felt like in those last few moments. Did the person really see the light flashing before their eyes? Was it a few moments of utter terror? Did they feel pain? Or was it sudden acceptance, feeling completely numb and preparing for the inevitable? Did your vision turn white? Or did everything just slip to oblivion? Obviously he'd died before. But from the blunt trauma to his skull, he hardly remembered anything after that. All he remembered was the strike that had completely shattered his ribcage. Next thing he remembered he was lifting himself out of Ra's Al Ghul's lazarus pit. He didn't remember and he certainly didn't plan on finding out anytime soon.

Shadow suddenly bolted up. He leaned forward and strained his ears to listen for the noise again. He looked down at his timer. It read zero minutes and ten seconds. Shadow shrugged. He guess he just imagined someone that sounded eerily like his father calling his real name from afar.

 _Showtime._

"So you're telling me that we have no product out on the streets?" Ryan asked agitatedly. The other men sitting at the table around him remained silent, too afraid to answer. While staying quiet would just piss Victor off, they all knew that actually speaking confirming his question would just piss him off even more. Staying quiet was the much better idea.

A tall, bulky man sat t the head of the table, giving the men a look that promised their deaths if they didn't answer. "Yes," A man to his right said quietly and hesitantly. He was bald with brown stubble showing that he hadn't shaved that morning. He was Ryan's main man. The man that sold the most product and had worked for Ryan the longest. The man sat next to Ryan Chase. One of the biggest crime bosses in all of Star City. Ryan's enforcer, the man that kept all the employees in line, sat to his left. The other men were the most important people to him. The providers. They sold the product and gave him the money. Everyone sat stiff, on the verge of peeing themselves as they waited for him to say something.

"And why is that so?" he asked in a deathly quiet voice. How was it that no one was buying the drugs? They were laced with numerous chemicals from labs that the men all worked in. Those chemicals were supposed to keep working and keep the customers returning for more. Things had been running so smoothly for the past few months. How was it now that everything was crashing down? What was the massive fuck up? Ryan didn't tolerate mistakes and if someone didn't answer for his financial losses, the police will have a nice day tomorrow cleaning brain matter from the walls and organs off the floor.

It was at that moment that one of the light bulbs decided to blow, dimming the entire room. The room contained no windows and the few bulbs that were still lit above the table illuminated the room in a way that casted shadows upon all the men's faces. Somehow it made them look even more threatening. Especially Ryan. His face was screwed up into an inhuman snarl, his teeth bared to exposed pearly white teeth. His eyes were narrowed into a full on glare and his shoulders were tensed, his hands curled into fists as he leaned against the table. The house had been put up for sale years ago after the owner died, but no one had bought it. It'd been abandoned ever since. A single vent that was once used to help air flow through all the rooms in the basement was the only other thing beside the door that could be a potential escape. That made the house a perfect spot for criminals to meet.

One man few seats down spoke. "A few of my customers have been arrested. I don't know why they've only now been. Maybe Green Arrow has figured out what we've been doing-" he cut himself off at the murderous glare that'd been sent his way.

"Well then go find out why, you pathetic piece of shit!" Ryan shouted, his breath loud and short, any patience that he'd previously had gone. No one dared to breath, too afraid of the sudden rage that had previously been hidden. A small line of spit dribbled down his mouth, his face bright red from his anger. He looked the others in the eyes. "Is this true for the rest of you?!" They shook their heads no. "Then why the hell am I getting less money from the rest of you?"

"Sir, half of my customers have been found dead. My cookers are all dead, sir. And… the rest of the drugs are missing," another man spoke up. Ryan's glare swiveled to him.

"And the rest of the drugs?! Where are they?" He shouted at the others. A vein throbbed in his neck. He was extremely frustrated with this new development. It'd take years to build up another drug empire like the one he had today. Years of hard work down the drain. Not only would he now need new cooks, but he'd also need to re-establish himself with new street dealers. This would most certainly take months, if not years to get back, and he was not happy in the slightest.

"Gone." The same man spoke. He gestured to the others. "When we got there, it was gone. All of it the recipes… everything. As if it'd been stolen. Or a hero confiscated us. He might _know_ , boss."

Ryan put his head in his hands. "So everything is gone. Is that correct?" he asked, requesting confirmation. "So what the fuck happened?"

"I already told you what I think. A damn good team has taken us down in one swoop. If it's not the work of a hero, then it's the work of someone trying to take over the territory." He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention. "As I said, half of my customers are dead. A clean bullet took each one out. Some were through the neck. Others… they went down with a bullet straight through the heart _while they were running_. And we all know that the superheroes don't kill."

Ryan considered his explanation carefully. What was this? Was it a vigilante or another crime boss trying to take over his territory? Did they want to see him dead or did they just want a stop to his drug selling? Regardless, this was a threat to his life. He'd grown up selling drugs. It was what his father taught him to do. His father passed down the legacy over to him. And he was not about to fail him.

"I think we're dealing with a competitor," he said after a moment, his voice smooth like honey. "You're right. The heroes don't kill. No matter what, they try their damnest not to. You mentioned the runners being struck through the heart? Maybe they hired someone. An assassin to do at their command. And this… competitor wants my territory for his own. He's a fool. He probably hired Deathstroke the Terminator to do his bidding. Though this has nothing to do with him, he probably agreed to it to get the money. Find him and kill him. I want his head on a spike so I can mount it on my wall. You," he gestured to one of the men. "Go find me some new cooks. We'll need new ones and fast."

The man he'd pointed to scrunched up his face. "Deathstroke? What's he got to do with this? I thought he was back with that Al Ghul guy. Training that new assassin kid of his."

Ryan's eyebrow raised. "Deathstroke has a kid? Ha! That's one for the ages. Kill them both."

"Sir, perhaps we should hire a man of our own to take care of Deathstroke?"

"Who?"

"Deadshot. He's the greatest shooter in, well, the world. No one can beat him. Not even Deathstroke."

"Good," Ryan smiled. "Find him. Hire him. Shut that piece of shit down. Am I clear? Take care of this or I'll take care of you." All the men nodded. Ryan didn't become the boss of almost all organized crime in Star City for a reason. Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife and I have plans for this evening. I expect reports tomorrow and I expect them to be outstanding. And hire more cooks," he said as he stood up. The chair squeaked as it slid against the floor. Ryan's main man followed him. The others remained sitting.

"I can get a hold of Deadshot," he informed Ryan. "Some of the guys I used to work for hired him once. The only question I need to know is how." He leaned forward and went to turn the doorknob. It was locked. "What the hell?" he questioned, confused.

"I have a few suggestions on how you can get a hold of him." A new voice spoke. Ryan whipped around to see who had spoken. Everyone was looking at the other as though asking if they'd spoken. They turned in sync and shrugged at Ryan, signifying they had not. Ryan narrowed his eyes, taking in the information. He then pulled out a gun and aimed it in the general direction of where he'd heard the voice. He hated that he couldn't see the walls. "There's no need for that."

Instantaneously, six automatic guns were taken out and fired. The room filled with the harsh, loud noise of the guns releasing bullets. Little sparks of light flashed from the muzzles before the lights slowly dwindled down to none. They'd run out of bullets. They looked at each other, wondering if they'd killed the intruder. A knife pounced out from the corner opposite of where they'd shot and embedded itself into the throat of Ryan's main man. Hot, reeking blood spurted out from the wound and he gurgled for a second before sliding ungracefully to the floor. Ryan's face, now stained red from flecks of blood that'd shot out was now twisted into one of rage and fear.

"Show yourself you coward!" the man snarled in a voice seething in rage. The room stood at a standstill. A black blur shot out from the shadows and wrapped an arm around a man's neck. It withdrew a heartbeat later and even more blood splattered over the room. The man who'd just been murdered fell face first on the table. A red pool quickly formed and a little waterfall ran down the side. An involuntary shudder forced its way through Ryan's body.

A new voice spoke. This voice was younger, much younger than the previous one and all the ones in the room. "Ah, but if I did that, I'd have to kill you." Ryan allowed his anger to take control. He let out a shout of rage and spit flew from his mouth. How dare this man come and ruin everything he'd created?!

"Try me," Ryan found himself challenging before blinking dumbly at himself. Had he really just said that? Ryan had always been the type of guy who'd hide behind others and watch them do the dirty work before claiming the credit. He couldn't believe he'd just allowed two men dictate the rules of the game. "On one condition, of course," he added in an attempt to salvage the situation. Two more men dropped to the floor, dead. From what Ryan had no clue, nor did he probably want to. But that also meant that he only had two men left.

A shadow removed itself from the darkness. The man was shorter than Ryan. Shorter than all the others in the room, in fact. Ebony black hair was just long enough to touch the white of the lenses he wore on his mask. One long, sharp blade was visible from a holster on the male's waist and a sword was strapped to his back. There were a few more black pockets around his thighs that held who-knew-what in them. Black gloves with orange tips showed two empty syringes with a small speck of red of the tip of each needle.

"Okay, I'm listening." His voice was devoid of all emotion. This startled Ryan. No one should ever sound like that. Everyone felt some emotion and it was always noticeable in the way they talked. But this… there was just nothing. It was pure monotone and that terrified Ryan. There'd only been one other person that he'd heard something like this before and that was his brother. His brother had been jealous of Ryan his whole life and after their mother died and their father began showing clear favoritism toward Ryan, his brother had just shut himself off from the world. He'd just… snapped. Three weeks later, he, too, had been found dead in an alleyway at night.

Ryan's mouth went dry as he struggled to speak. It took him a few moments to recover but when he did, he was back to being the cool a composed crime boss he was. A smirk crossed his face. "I sent out an alarm to the police three minutes ago," he stated smugly. "They'll be here any minute now." He could tell the shadow raised an eyebrow based on the way the left lens lifted. "Gotham isn't the only city that has a corrupted police force," he crowed.

The blade that had been in the thigh holster was suddenly buried deep into the chest of another man. His fingers fluttered up to the wound in an attempt to remove the weapon. He stumbled backward and disappeared into the shadows. The thud of body against wall signified that he'd crashed against it.

Ryan took a step toward where the man had disappeared before stopping himself. "So the challenge is to try to kill you before the police arrive?" Ryan waited until he heard the distant sound of police sirens before nodding. A wicked grin crossed over the young assassin's face. "Challenge accepted." Ryan turned back to the door, only to find it open. He was pretty sure he was about to piss his pants but didn't give himself the chance. He didn't waste a second and took off, aiming to climb the stairs, leave the house and race off into the woods.

Deathstroke peeled himself out of the shadows like a snake and eliminated the final man that'd been left. He dipped his head to Shadow, eager to see what he did this time. It was always a thrill for Deathstroke whenever the boy killed. It was living proof that even heroes could become corrupted if pushed far enough. It was also a thrill because every time Shadow committed a horrible deed or helped the Light, he was going against everything that Batman had taught him.

Shadow charged off after Ryan, his quick, long strides allowing him to catch up quickly. He pulled out his sword and waited for the shape of the other man to become bigger. He launched the sword from the bottom of the stairs and Ryan fell against the wall at the top. His hands shot to the wound. Had he really just been impaled? He turned around, groaning in agony as the blade slid further into his body, the skin being torn open or muscles forced apart to make room for the metal. The shadow was climbing the stairs.

"Who-Who are you?" he spluttered through clenched teeth. The assassin paused, seemingly to think carefully about his response. The police sirens grew louder still until they were nearly too loud to bear.

The shadow leaned down and grasped the handle of the sword with its left hand. "I am the thing that kept you from accomplishing your plans. I am the shadow assassin."

With that, the beast pulled back and ripped the sword from Ryan's abdomen. Everything burned from his feet up to his head and he rolled onto his back. Blood spilled down the edges of his mouth and he began to choke of some of it. Through his fuzzy vision, he mustered all his strength and glared at the savage, determined to show that he wasn't scared of death.

The beast let out an inhuman-like laugh. "You're trembling," the muddled voice taunted. Red seeped through the corners of Ryan's vision and he could only watch in hazy confusion as the beast pulled a gun from its hand.

Shadow pulled the trigger to the gun and tilted his head in mild fascination at the way brain matter and blood alike splattered the wall and floor. Deathstroke turned to look at his apprentice and smiled in delight at the way the young man was watching the deceased crime boss. His ears perked back and heard the sound of an arrow being notched back followed by its release from the bow. He turned and caught it, instantly throwing it right back at the owner of which it came from. While the dark shape dove to the side to avoid it, Deathstroke turned to his apprentice. "Take care of the policemen; I'll handle Green Arrow." Shadow nodded his head and Deathstroke charged at the vigilante. Both went sprawling to the floor before the two wrestled themselves out of the room, snarling words of hatred at each other the whole way.

That left Shadow to do away with the policemen. A whole group of four burst through the door in the kitchen at that moment with guns drawn and ready to fire. He carefully ducked into the shadows offered to him and melted away, carefully working his way to the group. The sounds of Green Arrow and Deathstroke fighting echoed throughout the whole house.

"Split up and search the house," the apparent leader of the group commanded. His mouth curled up in disgust as he regarded the dead body in front of him. "See if there are any survivors." Shadow felt his lips tug into a vicious smirk. Not today, officer… none today.

"Yes, sir," the others said in unison before heading down the hallway. They each split up at the separate doors. Shadow's gaze flitted back and forth between the leader just feet in front of him to the hallway where the others disappeared. He pressed himself further back into the shadows and patiently waited. It didn't take long for the leader to walk past the body and walk down the stairs.

Shadow peeled himself from the door and crouch-sprinted down the hallway. His ears perked up to hear them through the walls and was quick to determine that one was two doors down. Shadow disappeared behind the bathroom door just as the officer reappeared outside of his. The light from a flashlight briefly shone down Shadow's end of the hallway before it once more became dark. Shadow crept up behind the officer and grasp each side of his head between his hands. With a quick jerk and a loud snap, the body practically fell limply into Shadow's waiting arms. Another one exited the other room and Shadow quickly replicated what happened to the first.

That was when everything went wrong. The final officer out the leader turned the corner while Shadow was standing up from his crouched form of carefully placing the officer on the floor. Shadow hesitated for a brief second when he found himself staring at startlingly familiar green eyes and reddish hair. The freckles were there as well, including the suit of Kid Flash. But then it disappeared and he noticed the eyes were duller than Wally's and the hair was cut and carefully slicked back. Wally never did that. In his hesitation, the officer lifted the gun. Shadow's hand fell to his thigh and pulled out a shuriken. He brought his arm up and released his grasp. But it was too late. The officer had already taken aim and fired.

Both fell back simultaneously though the officer just completely crumpled to the ground, the shuriken sticking out of his forehead. Shadow stumbled back and blinked in his shock, his hands lifted and grazing over the wound. Had he really just been shot? How could he have let his guard down?! So what if he'd looked like Wally? He was over it. All of it. He didn't need the Team or the Justice League anymore. Hell, they certainly didn't need him. Besides, he'd worked on getting rid of any emotions he may have felt for them. He didn't notice comprehend that he'd fallen against the wall until he was down and on the ground until his head smacked against the floor.

He wondered how much time had passed. How long he'd spent standing there, too dumb-founded to do anything about it. If Deathstroke had heard the gunshot. If he was on his way. If he even cared. Vaguely, he recognized the sound of another gunshot as well as two screams. One of agony and the other of rage. He felt his eyebrows narrow as he tried to comprehend it all. Who was in pain? Who fired the gun? And had _he_ himself screamed?

Everything started to turn into a white haze. He was faintly able to take notice that someone was shaking his shoulders and demand him to answer. Maybe it was Deathstroke. May he did care for hi-

Oh no. He can't die. Not here. Not now. He couldn't break his agreement that he'd made with Deathstroke when he initially became his apprentice. He didn't it. Oh no. everything was fading out to white. Vaguely, in the distance, an echo of a shout breached his muddled mind. He wanted to respond out of instinct and loyalty. He felt like he was betraying his mentor. Rough hands grabbed him beneath his shoulders and by the ankles, lifting him.

Huh. Well this is what it's like to die. Definitely not what he expected. It felt like the atoms making him up were shifting and everything turned white.

* * *

Deathstroke paused and allowed himself to take a devastating blow to his stomach. He stumbled back. He should not have heard a gun go off. Shadow wasn't a huge fan and would only use one if it were absolutely necessary. This would only be if there was an unexpected hero to arrive. Which shouldn't be true. Green Arrow may have had two sidekicks at one point, but both weren't even in the city at the moment. He grabbed the fist coming at him and drove his own into the other's stomach. He took off while Green Arrow was winded. Something wasn't right here. Shadow was too silent to be caught by an officer and even if he was, he was fast enough to take care of himself. This could only mean that he'd been caught off guard. This was not good. It wasn't going according to plan.

Green Arrow was hot on his heels. Deathstroke assessed the situation in a heartbeat. Shadow was laying on the ground with his hands over his chest. Crimson red somehow seemed to stand out against the black. Another officer was standing at the other end of the hallway with his gun raised, ready to take the life of the man who'd murdered his friends in cold blood. Deathstroke took out his gun and fired. The bullet aimed true and struck the officer in the gut. He fell back with a cry of agony.

Deathstroke leaned to the left to avoid having his head taken clean off by the man behind him. He sprung himself away and glared at his enemy. "That bullet is laced with poison," he warned, his voice eerily steady and calm despite his concern for the boy on the ground. "He has about five minutes. An ambulance won't get here in time. Either you go save him, or he dies and his blood is on your hands."

Green Arrow gave his nemesis a look of pure hatred "This isn't over," he warned before running down and grabbing the officer.

"No, it's not," the mercenary shouted after him. He glanced at his apprentice before sprinting over. "What have you gotten yourself into?" he demanded, removing the boy's hands to take a look at the wound. He placed his own overtop the boy's chest and pressed down in an attempt to halt the bleeding. Shadow didn't answer, which concerned Deathstroke. Shadow may not like him or anyone in the world, but he wasn't below answering when he was in obvious danger. "Answer me, dammit!" he shouted, angry at himself for being so concerned and determined to save him.

He didn't need Shadow, right? He'd been perfectly fine before Dick had found him and begged to be trained. Deathstroke ripped the mask of Shadow's face. Dick's eyes were distant and glazing over. It was obvious that he was having trouble just staying away. "SHADOW!" he roared, hoping that it would get some sort of response. When he still got none, Deathstroke pulled out a communicator from his pocket and called Ra's. "Get me a boom tube," he demanded when Ra's' hologram appeared, "And prepare the med bay!" Ra's opened his mouth to say something but Deathstroke cut him off. "We don't have time for questions. Just send someone!"

He turned his attention back to his apprentice. The boy's eyes were half-closed. "Don't you dare die on me! I'll keep the promise to bring you back only to kill you myself before leaving you dead!" He shouted. Then his voice lowered and almost became pleading. "I need you." Blue eyes shut entirely.

Ra's suddenly appeared from a circle of red and black. "Oh, my," he gasped when he caught sight of the boy. Without speaking, Ra's grabbed Dick's ankles while Deathstroke took him by the shoulders. They walked into the boom tube, a trail of liquid red following in their wake.

* * *

 **AN:Holy crap. 6,365 words. Do you all prefer the chapters being that long or do you long the ones that average 3,000? If you want around 5-6k, it'll certainly take me longer to come out with updates, but it'll be more action packed/more into depth on everything.**

 **I hoped you enjoyed it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN #1: Review responses:**

 **Dratias: Long reviews are fantastic! I'll be completely honest, I cannot come up with creative names for the life of me and Shadow was the best I got. I would go with Renegade but for the purpose of this story, and the fact it literally means traitor, Tim would know something was up and I can't be having that, now can I? But no worries, he should be getting a name change shortly(Plot porposes). I feel the same way about the Dick/DS fanfics. So after watching Batman: Under the Red Hood, it was just like, "Oh! I an write out this story now because Jason going insane makes perfect sense so why not the same for Dick?" The Light members trust Deathstroke's and Ra's' judgment, but I think they'll be a tad iffy either way. I can't say if Wally dies, but I loved writing him seeing the officer as Wally as well. it was the perfect, 'is he sane or insane' moment.**

 **Dlsky: Your reviews always manage to make me get this silliest smile whenever I read them! Deathstroke and Ra's actually don't know that he doesn't remember because he hasn't mentioned it. They're just assuming he's pushed it to the side and that if he seems to lose focus because of it then they'll ask about it. I'll be honest, I don't want Dick rescued either! I love the books where the villains actually win. There's just something so much more appealing about them to me. No spoilers, though (; I've a pretty good idea about setting up a chapter focused solely on Dick's sanity/mentality. I just hope I can pull it off and make it really edge-of-your-seat worthy, because that's what it is while it's just in the back of my mind! Thanks again for the amazing review! I really appreciate all the thought that you put into them. They're so helpful for me both as a writer and reader.**

* * *

Robin stared up at the hologram of his deceased brother figure. The figure was tinted blue due to the holograph. Dick Grayson stood tall and proud, a stern frown on his face. His arms were held in front of him with one hand covering the other. Blue lines up from the emblem of the bird in the center of his chest and down to his wrists on both arms before it stopped. Escrima sticks stuck out from above his shoulders where they rested in small back holsters.

He sighed. It'd been so long since he'd bothered to visit the hologram, let alone his grave. Cassie stood beside him. "I've tried to be the hero he was," he muttered to his friend. He and Cassie had grown close over the past few weeks, making many of the team believe they were dating, which in turn had made him blush. There was no way that she thought of him like that. "Or at least _half_ of the hero he was," Tim added after a moment of thought.

Wonder Girl gripped the arm that Shadow had dislocated weeks ago. "You already are, Robin. You just have to realize that."

He shook his head and ripped his arm from her hands. He was still furious with himself for being taken down so easily. "No, I'm not!" he snapped. Robin regretted it instantaneously. Wonder Girl clenched her teeth and turned away from him, clearly hurt that he'd just snapped at her. "I'm sorry," he added. "It's just…" He broke off, unable to finish his sentence.

"It's just what, Robin?" she questioned after a moment, turning her head to look at him. Robin felt like melting into nothing at the cold glint in her eyes. She really hadn't appreciated being snapped at for just trying to help him.

Robin swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's just… You never got the chance to know him," he feebly explained. "He _trained_ me, Cassie. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He could say the rudest thing and make it seem like a compliment if he put his mind to it." A small chuckle escaped him as he thought of the time he'd mock taunted him after a failed attempt at doing acrobatics.

Cassie looked up at the hologram of the fallen hero, her gaze softening. She grabbed his arm again and gave it a light squeeze. Robin looked at her through his sunglasses. She paused, thinking about what she wanted to say. "I may not have met him, but from what I've seen and heard, he was a great guy."

"The best."

She gave his arm another squeeze. "You can't always expect to be what you think he wanted you to be, Robin." He gave her a startled look, as though only now realizing how she was talking.

"Um, are you alright?" He questioned, confused. "You're not acting like yourself. And aren't you supposed to be training with the others?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm just trying to help! But since you're so eager to get rid of me, fine, I'll go train with the others." He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted. "No! It's fine. Sorry I was trying to help as best as I can! It's not like you're my friend or anything."

Robin could only stare after her as she walked away from him. He found his voice again after she was already gone. He tried in vain to get her to come back. "Cassie, I'm sorry… ugh! I'm such an idiot!" he scolded himself. Robin put his head in his hands and slumped to the ground. Dirt and dust exploded outward, though the young Bat didn't notice. After a couple minutes of sitting there like that with his back hunched over and head in his hands, Robin looked back up at the hologram.

Tim sighed. "We need you, Dick. _I_ need you," he whispered. His voice shook. "Why'd you have to go after Joker on your own? You should've waited. We could've taken him down together." A pause. "So I've been working on that maneuver you taught me a few days before you… anyways, I just thought you'd like to know that. It's almost perfected and if Jason wants to spar later I'm going to use it on him. I bet you'd have loved to see the shocked expression on his face when it works."

Silence fell over the small cave again. The holograms remained motionless. Tim almost wished that they didn't. It'd make it feel as if he were actually talking to the man instead of just an image. Then again, at least it was better than a grave. He knew that from personal experience. There was just something more worth it coming to the cave to see the image than walking through the cemetery in Gotham. Maybe it was the fact that here Tim didn't have to walk through an area filled with dead people. Or more specifically, the graves of his parents, Bruce's parent's, and seeing Dick's grave next to the rest of his family's. There had intentionally been a gap between Dick's parent's graves for when the world claimed Dick and that was where he currently rested. But that didn't make it any better for anyone. No one had expected for him to be taken away so soon. Especially not at the age of seventeen. No one deserved to die at that age. Not even a bad guy. It just wasn't right.

"Bruce is standing trial on another planet right now." He jumped and his mouth suddenly speaking for him without him intending for it. "That's pretty ironic, isn't it? After everything he's done for this world and he's been put on trial for a crime that he'd been forced to commit. And with him gone, Jason has to act like Batman. He's gotten the voice pretty close but he definitely does not have the fight. That's why he tries to end fights as soon as possible. To keep thugs from realizing that he's not the one they fear. It's pretty exhausting on him. Leading the Team, being Nightwing in place of you and patrolling Blϋdhaven half the night and then coming to Gotham to patrol as Batman the second half. I don't know how he does it, but he does. I think you'd be proud of him if you were still here."

Another break of silence. Tim stood up to leave just as Conner entered the room. Tim turned his head to glance at Conner before looking back at the image. "Does it ever get easier for you?"

Conner's mouth gaped. "I don't understand. Does what get easier?"

Tim turned to fully face Superman's clone. "Looking at Nightwing and remembering that it's Jason under the mask and not Dick." He gestured to his own suit. "And looking at me and remembering that the Team isn't anything like it was when it first started."

Conner frowned it thought, his head tilting ever so slightly. "I've never really given it much though," he admitted after a few seconds. "When you're in costume, I see Nightwing and Robin. Not Jason and Tim. It's when you aren't in costume that you're Tim Drake." He stepped forward and put a hand on the Boy Wonder's shoulder. His eyes found Tim's through the sunglasses. "Like right now, to me, you're Tim, though I'll call you Robin when there are others present. But that's not what you're really asking, is it?"

Tim's shoulder slumped beneath the clone's grip. "No."

"So what is it?"

"How did you find a way to move on? To accept that he's really gone?" Tim blurted. Conner's eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things he'd expected the boy to ask, this was not one of them. He wasn't even sure that he had an answer to that. He'd never given it thought.

"I… I'm not sure," he admitted quietly. "I just… did. It's what humans needed. They needed strong heroes to defend them. So I made myself strong by accepting and moving on, I guess. And… I think that's what he would've wanted. For us to move on."

Tim chuckled. "You know, he used to tell me and Jason all these stories about how you used to charge into fights without thought and that you didn't think before you acted." Conner raised an eyebrow. "I'm starting to think that he just made those up. You're almost nothing like who he made you out to be."

"Apparently you're not as good a detective that you claim to be," Conner teased with a playful nudge. "He probably washed over most of the things I did so I didn't seem so bad."

"How so?"

"Did he tell you about how we met?"

"No."

Conner sat down and gestured for Tim to follow his action. "Well, you obviously know that I was a clone made by Cadmus. I was called project Kr. I'd been made to replace Superman. Nightwing, who was Robin at the time, came to Cadmus with Wally and… Kaldur," he added with a remorseful shudder before continuing. "They came against League orders to stay in the Hall of Justice-"

"No way!" Robin fanboyed, eyes wide behind sunglasses and mouth open in awe.

"Yes way. They found me below the building and I was told by the genomorphs, who taught me everything I knew telepathically while I grew, that they were my enemies. They set me free of the pod I'd been in and I attacked them. I ended up bruising one of Dick's ribs when I stepped on his chest. Kaldur was the one who convinced me that they could show me Superman and I listened. But it's because of the three of them that I'm here today." He hesitated and glanced at the hologram just feet in front of the two heroes. "We may not have been best friends of anything, but I owe everything to him. If he hadn't have hacked the computers at the Hall and insisted they check it out…"

"Wow…" Tim muttered. Then he grinned. "I knew there was more than one reasons why I was obsessed with him. Now I know why. He's a legend!"

Superboy studied him through carefully trained eyes. He'd learned a little bit on how to read Bats. "That's not all you have on your mind," he deadpanned.

"Huh?"

Superboy's eyes narrowed. "There's something else bothering you… Want to talk about it?" Tim gaped, unable to believe that he'd allowed himself to be read. It was one of his most important rules. To never let yourself be read. It was something that Gotham's psychos would love to be able to do. That's why Tim spent an hour every day meditating and working on keeping the unreadable expression that Batman wore.

Tim sighed. "There's this man I fought a few weeks ago and he beat me like it was nothing. I got a few blows in but I have a feeling that those were only because he let me catch him. He got under my skin, Conner. He knows that Dick is dead."

"Everyone knows that Dick Grayson is dead," Conner frowned.

"He knows that Jason isn't the first Nightwing," he specified. His eyebrows furrowed as he once more thought about his fight with the man. "I don't know how and I can't figure anything out about him. It's infuriating!"

"I may not be the best person at strategizing, but maybe you should confront him again and see if you can figure anything else. Did you see his face?"

Tim scowled. "No. He wore a red hood that had lenses in them."

"Then maybe see if you can identify if he works for anyone?" Conner suggested. "How about if anyone has been caught under that hood before?"

"I have. But, Conner, the only other person who's worn the hood was the Joker when he first started out his career. And he would never approve of anyone taking his identity." Both males lapsed into silence. the smaller of the two was thinking of a way he could possibly lure out the man in the red hood while the other thought about what to say.

Conner broke the awkward silence first. "Are you allowed to visit Joker in Arkham?"

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Conner shrugged his shoulders as if it were only a suggestion. "Maybe there's someone that has a vendetta against him that you don't know about."

"Outside of me, Jay, and Bruce? Not that I'm aware of." He scowled and looked up at the hologram. Tim's blue eyes burned with sudden tears. "I bet he'd have this figured out by now."

Conner nudged him and stood up. "Come on. Everyone knows that you're the master detective. So what do you say? Want to go watch your girlfriend defeat Lagoon Boy and knock that smug smirk off his face?"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Tim exclaimed while his cheeks turned a furious pink. He stood up anyway and followed the more experienced hero up to the training room. It was a fairly quiet walk which allowed Tim to ponder more on everything in general.

Like Wally calling Dick a dog. He couldn't quite understand why the retired speedster called the dead hero that. There was nothing wrong with thinking two girls to be pretty and even dating both at different times. So what if Barbara had been his best friend growing up? Before Tim had approached Bruce and told him that he knew he was Batman, Tim was aware of the fact that Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon were more than just friends, even if the two had refused to acknowledge it. Even to a much younger Tim, it was painfully clear that the two liked each other and just refused to admit it to one another.

Then there was Zatanna. Tim didn't know too much about that considering they happened before he joined the Bats. But from what he did know, they lasted a year or two before some argument broke out. Tim was never told what it was about but he always assumed that it was because of her joining the Justice League. Tim didn't blame them for breaking up. Dick had only been fifteen at the time, for crying out loud! He'd only just taken on the mantle of Nightwing and moved to Blϋdhaven after an argument with Bruce.

He knew all about that. Everyone in the Bat family did, yet there was a quite agreement made within the family to never bring it up. It'd been a very touchy subject for Dick at the time. Even now they never mentioned it to anyone. Wally was the only other person who knew why Dick went solo. Everyone else just assumed that he didn't want to live in Batman's shadow anymore. That he'd wanted to become his own hero and had to change to Nightwing because Robin would always be associated with Batman in the eyes of society. When asked, Alfred even told Jason and Tim that he could hear their voices from halfway across the manor.

Dick had been that pissed about Bruce lying to him about tony Zucco's death and frankly, Tim couldn't blame Dick for that. He'd be pissed as well if Bruce lied about Tim's parent's murderer dying in jail when in reality he was being set free early. And even that anger is ignoring where Bruce actually thought Dick would hunt Zucco down and kill him. While the original Dynmic Duo's relationship was never fully repaired, the two had managed to ome to some sort of agreement to help Jason to be the best Robin he could be.

A surprised grunt escaped Tim when he crashed into Conner's back. He took a step away and found everyone's eyes trained on him. An awkward silence resided in the room for a solid minute before Robin awkwardly cleared his throat. "… What?"

Beast Boy raised an eyebrow. "Robin doesn't pay attention to his surroundings when he's thinking. Noted."

Robin felt his own eyebrow twitch in irritation before his training took over and forced his expression to become unreadable. He gritted his teeth, angry that he wasn't in the loop as to what was going on. "What?" he repeated, though this time his tone almost held a demanding edge.

"I asked if you wanted to spar." Robin jerked his head around and stared at Nightwing, who was leaning casually against the door behind him. Nightwing's arms were crossed and a smug smirk was on his face at catching Robin off guard, yet at the same time, the Team leader's face masked irritation and his eyes narrowed, carefully studying the Boy Wonder.

Robin felt his throat go dry for a moment as he returned the weary gaze back to his brotherly figure. Something was wrong. The way his shoulders were slouched indicated as much. "… Sure." Robin was vaguely aware that those who'd been training had stopped and could sense the lingering tension that was growing in the room.

Nightwing pushed himself off the wall. "Let's go then." He paused when he reached Robin's side and glanced down to smirk once more. He leaned down and whispered into Robin's ear, "Unless, of course, you're scared of getting your ass handed to you?"

Robin felt his lip curl. Everytime he actually started getting along with the other Bat boy, he'd go and say or do something that made him remember why Dick once worked so hard on the two of them. Their polar opposite personalities had them arguing half the time. The other half was spent trying to convince the Team that they were perfectly fine and could work great together. The not-so-dynamic dynamic duo struggled every night when they interpreted what the other was trying to communicate wrong. That left Barbara to do double the work to make sure no one saw the way they struggled.

"You're the one who's going to land on the ground," he smirked back in fake glee. In reality, neither knew who was going to win. It all depending on who could surprise the other with something new first. They supposed that that was what happened when two people train under the same two people. They get taught the same thing but on occasion the other was taught a different method of getting the same result.

Nightwing walked halfway across the training room and turned around to face Robin. Both got into defensive positions and the room went dead quiet. Both took a moment to skirt their eyes around the room. Everyone had cleared off their own area to watch the fight that was about to commence. Even Batgirl had walked in and was watching them through narrowed eyes hidden behind her cowl.

Both simultaneously began circling around the small arena and Beast Boy started a timer. After two minutes of just pacing, the changeling grew impatient and leaned over toward Batgirl. "What are they doing?"

Batgirl spared a heartbeat to glance at him. Her eyes were wide in awe. "They're waiting to spot a weakness in the other's stance. It's one of the first thing Batman taught me. If you find a weakness in the other's stance. If you do that, you've already won half the fight. The fact that both of them are this patient is astounding."

A mischievous look crossed Beast Boy's face. "So if I were to ask a question to one of them, they'd actually start fighting?" Batgirl's mouth opened to warn him not to do it, but he ignored her and raised his voice. "Hey, Robin! What walks on two legs and then infinite?"

The Boy Wonder in question whipped his head around and tilted it to the side in confusion. "I don't-" he cut himself off in order to roll out of the way of a kick aimed at his side. The fight officially started.

Nightwing frowned in disapproval. "You thought it was okay to just drop your guard like that?" he demanded in a tone that suggested he was pissed. Robin didn't answer but instead dodged to the left to avoid the punch Nightwing sent in the younger's way. Both dropped into a crouch and studied the other for a split second before launching off the ground at the same time. While Nightwing had gone for a tackle, Robin had anticipated that and leapt high enough so that Nightwing was below him. Robin then dropped onto Nightwing's shoulders and used his knees to wrap around his predecessor's neck and hang with their backs together. Nightwing grabbed Robin's arms and brought his foot forward so that he could kick Robin in the chest.

Robin's eyes widened behind the shades and he allowed the kick to painfully connect with his ribcage so that he could fall with it. He flung himself back to his feet before the computer could state that he lost and propelled himself toward Nightwing. Nightwing, who had turned around by now, caught the fist and barely had time to realize the fist was a diversion for a leg sweep. One foot was caught and he stumbled to regain his footing. Robin took advantage of the mistake and leaped into the air before raining down with a roundhouse kick. Nightwing flipped away effortlessly.

Robin found himself falling into a very familiar pattern. Punch. Dodge. Swipe. Charge. Leap away. Throw a birdarang. Lunge. Leg sweep. Punch. Axe kick. Block. Parry. Counter attack. Handspring away. It was then that something unexpected happened. Nightwing changed his assault at the final possible heartbeat and jumped over Robin's head before turning around. Before Robin could turn himself, two hands went under his arms and connected at the base of his neck.

Nightwing jerked violently and forced the boy onto his knees. Robin growled as he did so. Everyone in the room was stock still as Robin just sat there with a very irritated look on his face. Nightwing applied a little more pressure and allowed a smug look to cross his face. He loudly began scolding Robin. "This is your problem, replacement," he critiqued, not even bothering to hide the fact that he hated how Bruce made Tim Robin as soon as he became Nihtwing. "You're trying to fight like him." Robin's whole body stiffened. "But you're forgetting something. I practically am him. You can't trick me with little flips and acrobatic stunts."

Robin didn't anything and instead opted to just stay in the less than comfortable position he was currently being forced in. The room was an uncomfortable silent while everyone either waited for Robin to submit and lose the fight or retort something back. Dick's voice from one of their last lessons rang in his head.

 _"There will come times where you doubt yourself, or others doubt you. Or you just aren't having the best day and someone is kicking your butt. You just have to find the reason why you're fighting and focus on it. Focus until it's the only thing you know. You don't have to win the battle every time, but you have to make sure that you win the war. If you concentrate on your reason for fighting, both the who and the what, you_ will _win the war. I can promise you that much."_

So why was Robin a vigilante? Why was he fighting? Well, there were several reasons. But at this specific moment, Robin knew exactly why he was fighting. Why he had to beat Jason this time. Taking a quiet, deep breath, Robin closed his eyes and concentrated until he could picture how the rest of the spar would turn out. He waited until all his strength built up into his arms.

With a small roar of fury, Robin jerked downward, breaking the hold and ignoring the flickers of pain in his shoulders. While Nightwing was still stunned from Robin's strength. He connected a flying kick into Nightwing's stomach. The older vigilante doubled over with an, "oomph," noise escaping his lips. Robin didn't waste a heartbeat and landed a roundhouse kick to the side of Nightwing's head. He spun and landed on his back. He was trying to blink the stars from his eyes when the breath was once more forced from his chest from Robin slamming a fist into his chest.

By the time Nightwing regained his senses and stood back up, Robin was casually chatting with Batgirl as if the fight had never happened while the others were still astounded with what they'd seen. Those last three blows, as well as escaping Nightwing's hold, had happened in less than ten seconds. The other two bats turned to face him simultaneously.

Robin's mouth was pressed into a thin line as he observed the still-winded vigilante that was standing in a slumped position in the middle of the room. "You might have the costume, but you're not him," Robin spat out. Both glared at each other, not even trying to hide their distain from the other members of the Young Justice team. The air crackled with tension. "If you were him, you'd have predicted that coming. He taught me it." He turned and started walking away before pausing to throw one more barbed comment. "I guess he just liked me better if I know more from him that you do. And to think I started training with his _after_ you did." Robin walked away, leaving stupefied teammates and an furious Nightwing behind.

 _Dick sighed as he once more dodged Tim's attack. The twelve year old boy was panting extremely hard and sweat was dripping from his brow and into his blue eyes. "No," he said, halting Tim mid-swing._

 _Tim hung his head and walked over to the bench in the Bl_ _ϋdhaven warehouse. He grabbed a water bottle and downed it in a few, quick gulps. "I'll never get it right!" he panted as he tried to regain his breath. Dick let out a small chuckle and shook his head before joining the young boy at the bench. Both sat down and Dick pulled out his own water bottle. He took a few sips before closing the lid and narrowing his eyebrows in thought to think about how he wanted to word what he was about to say. Tim studied him carefully and noticed how Dick kept tapping his foot as if he needed to move in some way to keep his sanity._

 _After a full minute of –in Tim's mind– uncomfortable silence, Dick's face light up and he grinned a cheesy, completely him-like grin. "Why are you training to fight?"_

 _Tim's jaw gaped. In all the questions he'd expect his brother figure to ask based on the expression from his face, that wasn't even remotely close to what he'd thought. "Um…" he stammered. "Because Jay isn't going to be Robin forever so I'll take his place when he becomes his own hero, just like he did with you? Except I guess he began training after you became Nightwing but-"_

 _Dick cut him off by standing up and lifting a hand for quiet. "That's not what I mean." Tim became confused. What could he mean, then? Was he referring to why he was training now and not later when Jason was older and closer to being able to be his own hero? "What is your reasoning. As in, why do you want to become Robin?" Oh._ Oh. _That._

 _He didn't really have an answer for that. "Uh… I want to save people?"_

 _A soft smile crossed Dick's face. "That's a start, but there's more than that. I can see it in your eyes. You just have to accept it and not deny it yourself. I know why, just as Bruce does. You just need to realize it yourself."_

 _"I-I don't understand," Tim stuttered._

 _"Of course you do," Dick raised an eyebrow. He suddenly snapped his fingers and started running over to where he had his bookbag placed by the door to the warehouse. He pulled out a photo that was long and rolled into a tube. He returned to a very confused Timothy Drake. Dick unrolled the photo to reveal an old photo of the Flying Graysons. The family was laughing and an arm each was drapped around the backs of the family members in a giant, one handed group hug. Young Richard Grayson was in the middle while his parents were crouched down on either side of him. John's brother, Richard 'Rick' Grayson was on Mary's left while Karla and her son, John were on the older John's right._

 _Tim smiled at the sight of how happy Dick looked before it turned into a frown. "Why are you showing me this, Dick?"_

 _Dick pointed at the picture. "What do you see?"_

 _"You and your family having a fun time?"_

 _"Yes, but not what I'm seing. Look into my father's eyes. What do you see?"_

 _"Pride?"_

 _Dick smiled sadly. "Exactly. This photo was taken the day before they were murdered. Now look at the whole picture again and tell me what you see."_

 _"I see…" Tim trailed off as he squinted his eyes and allowed his detective skills to take over to try to figure out what Dick was getting at. "You're all proud of each other. You're proud to be a family." At Dick's nod, Tim continued. "There's no doubt of concern. You all trusted each other and knew you could get the job done without fail. And… there's something else. You fight because of them, don't you? That's why you're showing me this."_

 _Pride shone in Dick's eyes. "You're very close. I fight the way I do because I want to honor everything they taught and trained me to do." He suddenly pulled up another photo. In this one, however, Tim did not see a happy family. Instead, a young Richard Grayson was crying over his family's graves. A small space sat between his parent's graves, presumably for him when the time came._

 _Tim didn't hesitate. "An orphan," he commented bluntly, thinking about how his own parents were dead and how he himself had briefly been an orphan before Bruce took him in. "You don't want anyone else to become an orphan like you –we–did."_

 _"You really are a mini Bruce when it comes to detective work," Dick chuckled as he gently shoved Tim. Tim beamed with pride and he was pretty sure that, based on the sudden heat in his face, he was blushing."I fight because I don't want anymore families to be torn apart for reasons that you, me, and the other superheroes and vigilantes can prevent. No one deserves that agony."_

 _"… What's this leading up to?"_

 _Dick's face suddenly became very professional and serious. "You need to find your reason. You won't e able to excel until you do. Now, I need you to do something really simple. Think you can manage that?" he teased. Tim nodded, determined to listen and follow every single instruction. "Close your eyes." He did. "Take a deep but slow breath." He did. "Now concentrate. Feel deep inside yourself and find your reason. Why do you want to train now? Only when you find should you exhale. Do you have it?" he questioned when Tim slowly let the breath out. He nodded. "Good. But don't tell me. I trust you have it right. Now give it your best and hit me!"_

 _Tim stood and narrowed his eyes to slits before lunging forward to throw a punch but tugged back at the last second. While Dick's hands were raised to parry away the attack that wasn't coming, Tim rolled between his legs and roughly kicked the back of Dick's knee. He was pushing himself back to his feet just as Dick fell to the floor._

 _Dick laid there for a second in a dazed sense of satisfaction. Tim walked into his line of sight and he pushed himself up to kneel. Two soft yet firm hands gripped Tim's shoulders. Blue eyes met, one pair beaming and the other alight with a combination of shock, happiness, an pure joy. "Excellent work. We'll have one more lesson for the night before I have to go out and patrol."_

 _Tim nodded enthusiastically while a grin tugged at his lips until it physically hurt._

 _Dick squeezed his brother's shoulders."There will come times where you doubt yourself, or others doubt you. Or you just aren't having the best day and someone is kicking your butt. You just have to find the reason why you're fighting and focus on it. Focus until it's the only thing you know. You don't have to win the battle every time, but you have to make sure that you win the war. If you concentrate on your reason for fighting, both the who and the what, you_ will _win the war. I can promise you that much."_

 _Tim dipped his head. "I promise I'll make you proud, Dick!"_

 _"I should certainly hope so!" he chuckled in a playful voice. He stood up and began pulling off his shirt and sweatpants to reveal his Nightwing outfit underneath. He jogged over to a rack on the far side of the room and grabbed his boots, gloves, and belt. "By the way, Tim, I was wondering. Would you like to stay at my apartment tonight? I'll tell Bruce that you were exhausted by the time we finished up here and I was not about to send you back to Gotham in that tired state."_

 _Tim laughed. Nightwing may be almost completely serious, but that didn't mean that Dick wasn't a fantastic brother and mentor. In fact, Dick and Nightwing were practically two separate people. "Of course I want to stay over!" he exclaimed. "Dude, Jay is going to be so jealous!"_

Dick woke from the dream with a start and instantly tried to sit up, only to be flung back against the bed as the restraints around his chest, thighs, arms, wrists, and ankles tugged him back. Too groggy to realize what was going on, Dick began writhing against the bed he was on in a desperate attempt to break free. He hated being in restraints since, well… forever… but mostly since he'd been murdered by the Joker because his hands had been restrained behind his back.

It was only when a burning agony pulsed through his chest did he fall back into the bed in a heaving lump. He began gasping as his body couldn't take in enough air through the pain and his head began pounding to the point that he was sure his head would burst open. A scream actually tore from his throat as he slammed his eyes shut. He bit his tongue to try to distract himself and only succeeded in tasting copper in his mouth.

He was gagging on it and spitting it up when a set of hands pinned his squirming shoulders –when did his shoulders start squirming?– while another set pulled his head up. He thrashed in the grip when a new surge of pain attacked his already flaring head, forcing him to go limp once more. He was vaguely aware of something forcing his mouth open and two circular shaped objects touched his tongue. He was about to spit them up when a familiar, rough yet trusting voice broke through the agony and to his ears. In was one simple word but it was enough for him to give pause.

"Swallow." There was something familiar about the voice that made Dick listen and he swallowed the objects. It was another full minute of sheer hurt before it ebbed away to a distant feeling that he hardly noticed. It was only then that he dared to open his eyes.

Blinding light made him blink furiously for several moments as his vision adjusted. Words echoed through his ears and he recognized them as belonging to Talia, Ra's, and Deathstroke. His vision cleared and he found himself in a white room with several machines. He followed the tubes connected to several of them and traced them back to various parts of his upper body. _Medications,_ he guessed. He remembered what happened to him that caused this and frowned. His eyes found Deathstroke's and he looked at him long and hard. No one spoke for the longest time.

He opted to first. "I failed." He almost didn't realize that it belonged to him. So when was his voice so scratchy and gravelly? "I got shot. Did you…" He took a deep breath to replace the sudden lack of air in his lungs. "… finish the mission?"

Though he was no longer looking his mentor in the eyes, all occupants knew who he was talking to. Deathstroke scowled. He'd planned on talking about that part later and focus on Dick's recovery, but it seemed that that wasn't going to happen. "No."

Dick sighed and pulled at his restrained. Tired blue eyes flickered to them. "Why'm I restrained?"

It was Talia who spoke this time. "For exactly the reason that you were when you woke up. We were unsure as to how you'd react upon your wakeup. It seems that Father's judgment was correct. As always."

Ra's regarded her through observant eyes before facing the boy. His face remained impassive, but if one looked deep enough into his eyes, once could see concern he still felt for Dick and his recovery. He hadn't responded well to being resurrected, so how would he react when he learned that he'd survived a near death

"Guess I didn't die then."

Deathstroke raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. He was curious as to how this would play out with all the drugs currently in his system and distorting his emotions and focus. "What makes you say that?"

Dick opened his mouth before closing it once more. He frowned as he lost his thought and tried to focus. To say it was difficult was an understatement. When he tried to focus, pain pulsed through his head despite the pain meds that he was on. He winced. "'M not dead," he finally deadpanned.

That much was true. "You're lucky Talia is trained so well. You were almost dead by the time Ra's and I brought you here." What they'd all agreed not to mention was the fact that he'd lost over half the blood in his body by the time Talia had managed to get the gunshot wound to stop bleeding. It'd taken a full day for one of the assassins to clean up all the dried blood from the floor. Dick spoke again but it was too quiet for them to hear. Talia frowned and he leaned down. "What? You'll have to speak up I you want us to hear you."

Dick blinked slowly, trying to stay awake through the sedative that Talia had just put in his system. "Th'blood. They'll know-"

"They'll know no such thing. While Talia treated you, I went back to the house with some others and we took care of the evidence that you're alive. The house is gone. You're safe." Deathstroke wanted to kill himself right there and then. That sounded extremely unlike him and he hated it. He hated that Dick could make him say things he never said. He despised that Dick Grayson was the one person who could actually make him feel something akin to love –fondness was more like it– which was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Not since Grant died. He cringed internally. "You need your sleep. We'll leave you to that. Training will continue when you're recovered."

They were gone before Dick could comprehend what had been said. He was still stunned at what Deathstroke actually sounded like he cared. He convinced himself that he'd imagined it and it was just the drugs playing tricks on him.

His eyes drooped but he forced them open as wide as he could manage. _Can't sleep yet_ , he thought. There was something he needed to tell Talia. Something about the pounding in his head and the fire burning in his chest. Something about meds not working as they should. He strained his eyes to look at the white tiles on the ceiling. He started counting.

 _One…_

 _Two…_

 _Three…_

 _Can't sleep…_

 _Four…_

 _Six…_

 _Sleep brings unwanted memories…_

 _Seven…_

 _Eight…_

 _Sleep brings back emotion…_

 _Fifteen… no… that wasn't right…_

 _Five…_

 _Seven…_

 _Sleep brings back Bruce…_

 _Eight…_

 _Nine… hey, that was right…!_

 _Ten…_

 _Sleep brings back_ their _deaths… Don't wanna see'm fall again… Too much hurt…_

Sleep won and his eyelids flickered closed. Screams of fear and the splatter of bodies being exploded open from colliding with the cold, hard ground far below echoed in Dick's ears. But over it all was Wally telling him to be safe. Safe on a mission that, somewhere in the deep recesses of Dicks mind, brought about a crowbar, a steel pole, a ton of red, and an explosion of yellow and orange.

* * *

 **AN #2:Did you all enjoy the brotherly Dick/Tim flashback I included?**

 **As for Jason/Nightwing being out of character for the fight, remember; this is Jason Todd trying to pretend to be the first Nightwing. He is still his own person and so his actual personality is shown a bit because he accidentally let his emotions get the better of him. He's still struggling with the whole being Nightwing thing, after all.**

 **Hey! Dick is okay! Sort of? Kinda? Not really? He's alive. Let's just go with that.**

 **Was Wonder Girl in character? She didn't say enough in the show for me to get a solid foundation for her.**

 **I tried to transition Tim's perspective to the dream to Dick waking up as best as I could, so I really hope it doesn't seem just out of the blue. I actually want Tim and Dick to have a sorta bond thingy in this so that's why that stuff happened, ehehe.**

 **I guess I'll see you all next time I update/you pester me to update!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Warnings; Graphic mentions, Potentially serious feelings of pity and sympathy to Dick, Harsh flashback**

 **Over 10,000 words. Okay. This chapter took me over seven hours to write. At this point I'm mentally exhausted and wrecked, and this isn't even close to the end of the story. In fact, this is about to set up something that will last at least seven chapters (probably). Then that's about the halfway point.**

 **I apologize if there are any grammatical errors or anything; please point them out if you see them. I could not bring myself to go back and reread all of this. I checked a few sections but not everything.**

 **I need to take a bit of a break from this to recollect myself. I don't know how long, probably a month maximum, and that's not including how long it'll be before I get an update out. I also realized that I've seriously screwed up my timeline from my chapter sketches and what I have in cannon and posted, so I need to figure that out before I can think about writing another chapter.**

 **Also, if I had a little contest, would anyone be interested in participating? Please let me know if you would be so I know if I should have a contest of not. If only a few people say yes I won't do it, but if a lot say yes, I will.**

 **On a brighter note, here's a great cliffy for y'all to ponder until I get back! (So when you see no update in a while, that does** ** _not_** **mean I've abandoned this, because I'm not). I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all in a bit!**

* * *

Time; something that there was both too much and not enough of. All of the scum were given far too much time to do unnecessary crap that could have been prevented. Should've been prevented. The scum that acted all big and tough but when it came down to it were the biggest cowards of the Earth. All they did was hide behind bodyguards and hen those ran out they pleaded for mercy. The scum that strutted around cities as if they owned the place when in reality, they didn't. So when it turned out they didn't, they cried and whimpered like lost little puppies.

Life; something that was far too precious and yet was handed out as if everyone deserved it. Who were heroes to decide that everyone deserved to live? What about those who killed just because they wanted to watch the world burn? Take Gotham's villain's for example. Or more specifically, the Joker. The man who'd ended the life of Richard Grayson for the sole purpose of trying to get Batman to cross the line. Nothing pissed Dick off more than knowing that even he didn't mean enough to Bruce for the man to cross the line just once. He'd thought that after everything the two had gone through together that he at least meant _something_ to him. He supposed he guessed wrong.

Second chances. Ha! More like fifty million second chances. Those pathetic so-called heroes think they can make all the bad guys stop being bad guys. They can try for all Dick cared and he knew they'll continue to fail every time. Once a choice is made, there's no going back on it. He knew that better than most.

To say that Dick was bored out of his mind was an understatement. Being bedridden and forbidden from training was his least favorite part about being shot in the chest. Damn that officer. Who knew when he'd be allowed to start training again? He needed to tone the skills that had cost him this past week in the bed.

At least he'd worked out his problem with Talia. It seemed that the bullet wound triggered something inside his chest and head. A faint throbbing was always there, but Talia's tea had changed it from pure agony every second to the faint throbbing. Along with the tea, Dick had figured out that meditating for an hour every day had decreased its presence even further. At least that was a plus to being stuck in the small yet comfy room. It gave him a change to try to work out even more coping methods. Talia believed that it was a side effect from the pit that had been blocked until he experienced another near-death experience. They'd never know for sure considering Ra's was always put back in the pit before they could consider just trying to save his life with medical supplies.

He had a fairly good guess as to the why they didn't just do the same with him. He remembered his own resurrection… his animalistic attitude as his body reacted horribly with being brought back… his entire body feeling as if it were on fire and running being the only thing that could squelch the burning.

But then again, he'd died from an _explosion_ after all. Maybe the aftereffects of his whole body catching fire from it remained for that time. Following that theory, it should only be a matter of time before the damn squeezing in his chest and head would stop.

Dick unconsciously clenched his hands to fists and the cracking noise that followed echoed around through his eardrums. The harsh cricks vaguely reminded him of the sound of his spine rubbing against itself that night.

That night… everything and everyone Dick once knew or cared about had been unfairly ripped away from him. The only father-like figure he had in Bruce Wayne, his mentor, his supposed legacy, Jason, his old team, Barbara, Wally, Tim…

… His name. He could never be Richard Grayson to the public again. That identity was dead and soiled. Even if he ever announced his being alive, he'd never be saved. How ironic. Richard Grayson, the goody two shoes that strived to put a smile on everyone's faces. Richard Grayson, the boy who was fostered by billionaire Bruce Wayne after the tragic murder of his parents and refused to perform stunts close to what he had at the circus. Ha! Yeah right. His Robin and even Nightwing personas said otherwise. Like those worked out _oh so_ well.

Dick wondered how Wally was. He knew two of his old teammates retired from the superhero business and were living their lives like normal humans. Dick was curious as to if they were still dating. He'd hacked into the security system of Mount Justice the week before he'd been shot and listened to Artemis and Wally fight over leaving or not. His death had to have had something to do with it. Dick knew Wally after all and if his calculations were correct, Wally was one of the mot devastated heroes and would want to retire and bring Artemis with him so he wouldn't run the risk of losing anyone else he kept very close.

Artemis, of course, probably revolted strongly against it, insisting they needed to stay and work harder to prevent it from happening again. She would've insisted on staying so she could keep proving that she was nothing like her father and sister. That she wasn't going to turn into an assassin and betray everyone. That left only one possibility for her to comply with Wally and leave. Kaldur. He must've betrayed the Team and League shortly thereafter. It was the only solution. Everything added up.

Jason becoming Nightwing a week after Dick's death, Artemis and Wally leaving six months after, Kaldur turning a month before they left. Dick found it humorous. Frankly, he could hardly believe it himself. Who knew Jason would find some of Dick's old sketches and take advantage of them? Then again, Jason always had been the kid that would go to extremes to finish the mission. That was where the two of them mainly differed. And that was why the Light, or more specifically Vandal Savage had only been surprised that he was alive. Vandal had known that the Nightwing he'd been watching the past two years was not the original. After all, the original would never put Aquagirl's life on the line for a mission. From there it'd only been a study of finding out what happened to the original. Dick knew that him being Shadow hadn't been anywhere on Vandal's mind.

He did, however, have to give kudos for Jason figuring out the Kaldur is Black Manta's son. As Nightwing, Dick hadn't put his discovery down on anything. It'd remained in his head and his alone. He'd told no one else. The Justice League most certainly wouldn't have told Jason. Which meant that Jason had come to the same solution as Dick.

Why was Kaldur the only black Atlantean? Who were his parents? Why was Aquaman so protective of him? Those were the questions that drove Dick to start his own, personal mission. Sure enough he didn't expect the results. Imagine his surprise when he ran some of Kaldur's blood from another mission and compared it to other's an discovered his DNA matched that of Black Manta.

Ra's cough dragged Dick out of his thoughts and he was force to blink several times in order to bring himself back to reality. It took five seconds for his vision to focus back on his surroundings. He discovered himself to be looking down at a chessboard and t appeared to be his turn.

Dick carefully studied the game in order to decide what move to make. He picked up a pawn and was about to set it down when- "You seem distracted." Despite his efforts not to, Dick jumped and sent the board scattering to the ground, the game piece somehow still in his hand. He scowled at himself for not paying attention.

Dick brought his gaze up to meet Ra's' frowning face. "I was thinking," he said.

"Thinking about what?"

He gritted his teeth and stalled by leaning down to retrieve the fallen board and its pieces. "Kaldur." Partial lie. His thoughts were related to the former Atlantean but not regarding him. Just his luck, Ra's didn't appear to believe him. Not entirely, at least.

"And what about Kaldur'ahm has caught your attention and taken you away from our game?" he asked. Dick placed the board down and they both worked quickly to set their pieces back where'd they'd been. A rare look of mischievous crossed his features. "Are you mad that he is out fighting for our cause while you're stuck here until my daughter sees it fit?"

Dick narrowed his eyes while he regarded the game and its pieces. He pointed to an empty space. "You had your rook there," he challenged.

Ra's smirked and moved it to the correct location. "I was just making sure you were paying close attention."

"I'm not a child," Dick said. "I'm not mad because he gets to fight. I'm confused." _Confused at how blind all of you are._

"For what are you confused?"

"Can we trust Kaldur? Do we know for sure that he wants to be a member of the Light? How do we trust that he won't betray us without proof he's on our side?"

Ra's smiled and moved his rook to capture Dick's pawn. He contemplated how to word what he wanted to say. He decided to just be blunt. "I trust you, don't I?"

"Yes, but-"

"Why do you think I do?" Dick chose not to respond and instead made the decision to absentmindedly move another pawn. " _You_ sought out Slade. Not the other way around. Kaldur'ahm sought out Black Manta. The Light doesn't trust him. Not yet. But we have tests prepared to make sure of his loyalties, just as I did with you."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "What kind of tests?"

"Miniscule things that will add to our equation to victory." He moved his Queen through a gap Dick had left. "Check."

He stood up and gripped the sides of the table while simultaneously ignoring the throbbing forming in his chest. Calculated eyes glazed over the board in an attempt to work a safe way out of it. While he had four pieces left, Ra's had seven. He grunted and sat back down before grabbing his King and reluctantly moving it. That left his own queen wide open to take, something of which the master of chess did. Dick couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to become so sidetracked and allow this to happen. He always put up a better fight than this!

Dick's lungs closed up tight and he gasped for air. Ra's stood up, eyes wide with concern as Dick slid over the side of the seat and crashed to the ground. His eyes grew wide and he clawed at his chest in a desperate attempt to draw in air that his lungs wouldn't allow. The next thing he knew, his upper body was being lifted and something cold was pressed to his lips. "Drink," a voice ordered. He forced himself to comply even though black spots were creeping in at the edges of his vision. The liquid tasted cool and had a hint of honey to it.

 _"Okay, kid, I gotta go. But it's been fun though, right? Well, maybe not so much for you but I'm just guessing since you're being awfully quiet. Anyways, be a good boy, do your homework and be in bed by nine. And, hey! Please tell the Big Man I said, '_ Hello _.' Ehehehe AHAHAHAHA!"_

Dick thrashed around in the grip of whoever was holding him at the sound of that voice. He couldn't place when that took place but he had a pretty good guess. Slade slapped him and Dick found himself able to breathe again. He took in giant gasps of air. The room was quiet besides the heaving coming from him and it took a long time for the black spots to disappear and his vision to return. When it finally did, he found himself looking at the concerned faces of his mentors and one assassin. "Sorry," he mumbled. He tried not to wince at how raspy it sounded. How long had he been sitting there?

"Don't apologize," Talia said from behind. She must've been the one to drag him up.

"What was that?" he asked in reference to the drink.

Talia stood and Dick had to plant his hands on the ground behind him to prevent himself from landing on his back. He'd already fallen once; he didn't want to make it twice. She strutted in front of him and paused when she reached the doorframe. It was only that she turned and addressed him. "That was tea meant to calm the mind," she said. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Next time your chest is causing you trouble, let someone know. Don't wait until you pay a painful price." And then she was gone.

Slade and Ra's shared a glance before Ra's followed his daughter. That left Slade and Dick on their own. He took another sip of the tea. Slade glared at him. _Great. Now to talk about my failure._

"That was stupid," Slade finally said after several moments. Anger burned in his eyes and he crouched to be level with his apprentice. "Don't ever do something like that again!"

Dick stalled for a moment by lifting himself back into his seat. "There's not much I can do than to learn to cope with it until it goes away. The tea can't be a permanent solution. If I can't deal with it, then you'll have to find a new apprentice."

"I won't let it come to that."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't the protective type. Not since-"

"I won't have spent the last two years training you only for you to retire," he interrupted. "That'd be counterproductive for both me and the Light."

"You aren't even a member of it."

"Yet," Slade said. "I have every intention of working my way into it before they try to get rid of me." That much was true. All he had to do was play his cards just right and he would be a full member. Working with Ra's wouldn't work for much longer. Dick was a large portion of it. He just needed the boy to prove his worth to them first. His wound was a major setback to his calendar, but he could work around it.

He suddenly noticed the dead, exhausted look in the boy's eyes. The way in which his shoulders slumped and his body slouched. Even his facial expression was drooping as though he hadn't gotten much sleep lately. "You look tired," he commented.

Dick unconsciously straightened his shoulders and body posture. Based on past experiences he knew that whenever Slade mentioned him not being on alert usually meant the man was about to throw a halfhearted attack at him and then reprimand him for not being prepared. "I'm not," he tried to deny.

Slade merely raised an eyebrow. "You waking up earlier than usual every morning says otherwise."

"I…" he trailed off, groping desperately for a lie. "So what? That's all the more time to work on getting better." What he settled on sucked, but it was better than nothing. His mentor, on the other hand, was not impressed.

"Listen to yourself. You're not thinking rationally. You won't get better if you don't take proper care which, again, is counterproductive; something of which I will not tolerate." His eye narrowed dangerously. "If you can't better watch over your own health I will make you leave. I won't have a stubborn apprentice holding me back on missions."

Dick felt his temper flare and his hands slammed against the arms of the chair so he could stand up and glare right back at the older man. "That officer caught me off guard-"

"- Something of which I taught you how to avoid-"

He jabbed a finger at Deathstroke's chest. "- You're always looking to place the blame on others! Maybe if you hadn't allowed yourself to become emotionally compromised with your hatred of Green Arrow, none of this would be happening right now. Grant is dead, so just let it go!" Both froze after he said that and part of Dick silently wished he'd actually died. His shoulders slumped once more and he didn't even try to fight back when Slade roughly shoved him back into his seat. "I… Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It's just-"

"- It's just what?" Slade demanded. "It's just that you're having doubts about staying here?" Dick blinked at him but didn't try to protest against it. "I watched your fight with Robin. I saw the way you looked at him. You almost regret hurting him, don't you? You're going soft, Richard. You need to clean up your act before you try to go back out there."

Dick narrowed his eyes at the usage of his official name. He'd only ever been called that by others when he seriously messed up. His parents mostly referred to him as Richard which was why he started going by Dick after Bruce took him in. He'd needed some part of him that would go down in the grave with his parents, after all. He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He'd really fucked up this time. "… Robin has much potential, Slade," he responded stiffly. "If we could just get him on our side it's game over. He's a great strategist and he's on par with Batman's detective work. All he needs help on is his fighting. It's better suited for us if we can turn him while we still can."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" He genuinely enjoyed irritating the boy at times. He didn't do it often, but when he did Dick would get offended and tended to go down to the training room to work out his pent up steam. This time was different, however. Dick was still confined to his room and select few others. The others not included were the training rooms, the weaponry, and anywhere close to where assassins would be training. But right now Dick needed another way to blow off the steam. Slade just had to play his cards carefully and not go over the edge. He did once before and Dick had almost killed an assassin when they'd offered to spar.

He sighed again and he felt his eye twitch. His disdain for explaining himself was amongst his least favorite things to do. "Batman is determined to mold Robin and Nightwing to become what I was to him. He spent half a year on Jason before I figured out what he was doing and put a stop to it. With me gone there's no one there to make sure that doesn't happen. The fact that Nightwing is still alive and not dead and six feet under to the public shows that Batman's determined to not let my so-called legacy be done for. When I fought against Tim, his fighting style was very similar to my old one."

"You trained him." Slade was unimpressed.

"He needs his own fighting style. He won't excel in his fighting if he doesn't, meaning he'll spend more time on learning how to hack or work on detective skills. From there he could figure out that I'm alive and it'd ruin everything. But if we get him and enhance everything he knows, he could become unstoppable. He has the potential to be better than me, even you. He just needs the proper… motivation." Dick crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair as if to ask if the conversation was over.

Slade grunted out an answer that Dick couldn't hear before turning and walking away.

* * *

Dick bolted straight up in his bed, the sheets tangled all around him, yet they somehow weren't touching him. He was panting, shaking, blinking away the sleep and rubbing at his eyes. He struggled not to scream, completely thankful for the years of practice he'd gained since the age of nine. Sweat dribbled down his entire face and even more soaked his body and the bed. Dick's chest heaved for too much air as he tried to settle himself down and he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. He propped himself up by planting his hands down behind him. He didn't even notice how they shook from the aftershock of the dream. The sound of air expelling from his lungs seemed to echo around the whole room due to the lack of noise otherwise.

As he calmed himself, a cold fury crept up his spine and it took all of his willpower not to let out a disgusted snarl. He'd always been plagued by nightmares, whether it be Bruce disowning him, falling, watching his parents die, watching his new (yet former) family die as he was held to a wall and forced to watch, his own failures, and Joker's laugh along with the sound of bones shattering echoing in his ears as hit after hit after hit of crowbar collided with solid muscle. Well, now his dreams had a new star; a man in a black suit that was covered with knives and mask that resembled something he knew he should recognize –maybe it wasn't just his memory of the last minutes of his death that was missing– pulling down on a lever that sent electric charges coursing through his body while everyone he'd once loved, respected, or not saved in time watching him with amusement in their eyes while sparks made his body jerk harshly into the piano wire that bound him to the table.

One full week of the man's hidden face putting him through painful things and he still hadn't told anyone about it, and Dick still wondered how Slade knew he was tired. The whole thing made him snappish and uneasy even though he tried his hardest to keep it a secret. He already had Slade and Talia breathing down his neck; he didn't need people watching him as he slept to make sure everything was okay. Apparently the secret was finally taking a toll on his stability. That much was evident by him accidentally letting it slip with his snarky remark about Grant.

He grunted when his arms finally cooperated and stopped shaking before forcing his already sluggish body to stand up. He stretched, and damn did it feel good to crack his back and knuckles. Not being allowed to work had made his muscles stiff and sore. Some brief exercises before going back to bed couldn't hurt too much, could it?

Dick bent his knees and carefully crept forward without making a sound. He didn't need to wake up the others and worry them. He'd only be sent back to his room if he were caught, anyway.

* * *

Several hours later, a restless young boy slipped out of his own bed and began to work his way around the building in an attempt to work out his thoughts. Noise in the training room caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes before cautiously creeping to the door. He pushed it open noiselessly, and he stilled in the doorway.

It was impossible to tell how long the man in the room had been at it, but he was in the middle of some tumbling routine –one in which every movement screamed pain and fear and sorrow– and he was completely soaked in sweat, his shirt tossed on the bench of the far side of the room dripping a few droplets as well. His sweatpants stuck to his leg and his hair was dripping with it… it'd obviously been a long time, and he didn't look anywhere close to being done despite his legs quivering and almost giving out from underneath him as he landed from a flip and propelled himself up in another twist.

The boy at the doorway continued to watch with one eyebrow raised, half of him critically watching while his other half observed each and every perfect movement in order to better enhance his own training later on.

The agony and exhaustion eventually took its toll on the older man's body, as shown when he landed on one leg and it completely collapsed beneath him. He let out a long stew of curses after he landed and he instantly wrapped two sweat-coated hands to his knee, too lost in all the demons tormenting him to even notice the person in the doorway.

"… You should get some ice for that," the young-yet-hardened voice of Damian called out. Damian stepped fully into the room and pretended not to notice the full on glare sent his way. He was dressed in comfy sweatpants that had several hidden slots to place weapons in if the place were ever attacked –his room was right next to the weaponry– along with a tee-shirt that hung loosely around his small frame.

"Go away, boy," came the snarled out response of a clearly angry Dick Grayson.

"No." Damian was in front of Dick in a flash and was already looking at his knee. The refusal isolated itself from the demons within Dick's troubled mind.

"It's just the knee. It'll be fine by morning." Damian fought his irrational impulse to hit the knee to prove a point. Ra's would kill him if he did that.

"Look," he grumbled, "I don't do this for anyone, so the fact that I'm helping an idiot like you should be enough for you to shut your ungrateful mouth." He reached out and put a hand on Dick's shoulder. It was almost impossible for the boy to ever show anything akin to affection, let alone someone to see it.

Dick looked up at him, his brilliant blue eyes dark with more than just physical pain. "You can't help me."

Damian cocked his head to the side and frowned deeply. "Because you won't let me? Or because I can't possibly understand because I'm a six year old kid?" He drew his hands back and planted them on his hips, wishing he were older for the seventh time that night. "I'm not completely heartless."

"Both… and you're Talia's and… you're Talia's son. Anything I say you'll report to her. I don't need a shrink." He glanced back down at his knees. Sweat flung itself from his bangs, and Damian reared back while making a repulsed face.

"I'll be leading you one day. I need to make sure you're safe." Damian inwardly laughed at how unlike him he sounded. He just needed to get on Dick's good side so he'd teach him how he did all those flips and turns with such ease…

Dick shuddered upon that, upon hearing similar words come out of another person's mouth, the sound of a much deeper yet still vaguely same voice sounding so warm and sweet… he shoved his hands to his eyes and rubbed them furiously, a noise that he refused to admit was a sob escaping his throat. A small part of him wanted to die. His breathing went erratic and defied all the hours he'd spent meditating and training in his life. Damn it! He didn't need a mental breakdown right now, of all times!

Damian metaphorically stabbed a knife through his chest before leaning forward and wrapping Dick up and into a hug. Dick froze for a moment, his pride warring with his old desire for comfort and contact with other people before sinking into it, another sob escaping his throat while tears blended with the sweat running down his face.

The two remained quiet except for the gasps for air that stood for more sobs that sounded every few minutes and Damian felt his irritation slowly disappearing. He made a snarling face in defiance to the fact that Grayson was getting to him. They swayed a little bit while he swayed a bit, murmuring, "It's okay, you're safe here. Sh, Grayson. That's it. Take slow, deep breaths."

Unknown to Talia's son, Dick's breakdown was because of everything he'd kept pent up. All the pent up anger, grief, and even fear that'd been turned to demons finally broke through his once sturdy walls. Damian tightened his grip on the male in hopes of helping to calm him. He almost jumped when Dick wrapped his own arms around him and squeezed back. His eye twitched. _Perfect. An overly emotional person thinking we're suddenly best friends._ Even so, Damian didn't pry himself away from the hold, instead choosing to offer some form of light in the dark to banish the demons.

Dick pulled away after a minute and tried to ignore the fact that the boy's shirt was now clinging to his chest from the wetness of tears. He rubbed his eyes furiously before he awkwardly shuffled away, his training finally taking over again. "Sorry," he mumbled while gesturing to the wet shirt.

Damian tugged at it before taking it off, opting to get a new shirt than to walk around in a ruined one. "Don't do it again," he grumbled in return. He didn't need to swallow any more of his pride and instincts tonight than he already had. He watched as Dick pushed himself to his feet. Damian followed in pursuit. "So… an acrobat, huh?"

Dick clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before letting out a loud exhale of air. "Yeah…" He scowled and tried to read the boy's face. The thin lips and blank green eyes showed that he was well trained –for or a six year old, at least. Dick's experience allowed him to read the boy anyway. "When practiced enough, acrobatics aren't as hard as they seem," he finally said.

Green eyes narrowed and he turned around to walk away. He didn't notice the near-smirk planted across Dick's face as he closed the door shut behind him.

* * *

 ***About Two Years Ago***

A sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted Dick Grayson, dressed in his Nightwing attire, walked through the Zeta Tubes and vaguely heard the last words of the computer announcing his arrival. To his surprise, he saw no one in the main room, even though there almost always was at least one person, whether it be a League or Team member.

The Team had improved so much since he'd first helped to create it when he was just thirteen years old. They'd gained new members such as Lagoon Boy, Beast Boy, and Robin, all of whom had made great efforts in proving their worth to the older and more experienced members. As well as gaining members, they'd also lost Zatanna and Rocket to the League. All Team members had been offered League positions when Dick had turned seventeen, but only those two had accepted. The original members knew that any and all future rookies would need some serious training on stealth; no one needed a repeat of their first year where every time they'd been told it was a covert or recon mission only, some sort of explosion would later be associated with those words. Batman just gave up at some point and told them to try to keep the damage at bare minimum.

Batman… had changed. At least, his relationship with Dick had. Any mention of the first Dynamic Duo when either two were present resulted in the room temperature seemingly dropping twenty degrees as well as a quick change of topic. Dick still couldn't fathom how Bruce thought he could kill Tony Zucco when he had been released from prison. He wasn't a murderer, and he never would be. He would never stoop down to that level… to Zucco's level. Even so, Bruce still seemed weary about bringing the topic up whenever Dick was around. It irritated him to no end, and his irritation often followed him to the Mountain, leaving behind the reputation that he was the complete opposite of his old Robin persona. It didn't help that he stopped butchering the language. That'd certainly earned him concerned glances when he'd scowled at Wally for using it after making his first appearance as Nightwing. He'd scowled at _Wally_. His _best_ friend.

Dick walked through the halls of Mount Justice and frowned at the fact that no one seemed to be there. _What the heck? Where is everyone?_ They were supposed to be having a training session, after all. Conner of all people never missed a chance to either kick some serious butt or get his kicked and then learn how to correct himself so it wouldn't happen again.

Dick loved Conner's development over the years the most. The once hard-headed, bad tempered clone was nearly the complete opposite now. It was hard to believe. The temper was still there, of course, but it now took a lot more for it to go off. The clone now planned strategy before his attacks, something of which Dick was proud of for teaching him. Conner was developing potential to be the leader of the Team in future years.

He still had no desire to lead, now more than ever. That drive had never returned and, if anything, it'd only pushed itself further and further away. Now that Dick was his own hero, had his own name and city, he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't Batman and didn't want to be him. He was aware that Bruce knew that much, but he was unsure if the man that'd taken him in knew why that was. Probably. He was Batman, after all.

He came to a halt at the door to his old room. He sighed and rested his head against it, masked eyes closing and his hands resting on either side of his head against the door. He hadn't entered the room in over a year, and even then, it had only been so he could clear all of his Robin stuff out to turn it into a strategy room. That never happened.

He entered the pass code in and smiled sadly at the familiar numbers and words. Wally had helped him come up with it when they'd first been ordered to choose a room. _FGSW2RW10BFATPOAW_. Falling Grayson, Slow West, Ten Richard, Two Wally, Best Friends and Two Pieces of a Whole. At the time he had made the code, he'd been leading ten to two in successful pranks. Falling Grayson and Slow West represented two of their fears. The first fear they'd told the other about, in fact.

The door slid open with a soft hiss that somehow still echoed throughout the quiet halls. Dick took a single step through the door, almost wincing when his light automatically turned on. It wasn't that he was startled because he'd forgotten that he'd set it up to do that, not at all. He had just forgotten that he'd left a poster of the Flying Graysons on the wall above the messy, vacant bed and directly across from the doorway. It was so hard for him to believe that he would have left it there until he remembered that it'd been because the original members of the Team all knew his name. He just hadn't cared when Lagoon and Beast Boy had joined because they'd never be able to figure out the pass code. Outside of Wally, no one else on the Team even knew. Some things deserved to be kept secret forever, the meaning behind the code being one of them.

Dick glanced to his left and almost laughed the picture that was perched up against the desk. It was an old photo from back in 2010 at Wally's birthday party. The two friends had insisted Megan take a photo of them together. Dick's right arm was wrapped around Wally's shoulder while his other made a peace sign. Both boys were smirking like dorks and Dick raised his eyebrows of his own eyebrows sticking up above the sunglasses on the photoed Dick.

A computer sat on the desk and Dick walked over to sit down in the chair set at the front of it. He opened the screen and turned it on. A photo of the entire Team together greeted him when it automatically went to the home screen. The nefarious thirteen year old Robin had himself balanced on Conner's and Kaldur's shoulders while Conner looked up at him with a raised brow. Kaldur's amusement was more subtle with the way his mouth was slightly parted open to show a black space between his top and bottom teeth. Dick remembered how Kaldur had chuckled after the photo was taken. He now suspected that the photo was taken just before the Atlantean could actually chuckle. He once thought that Kaldur had held it in.

His eyes strayed to the date planted at the bottom right corner of his screen. March 17th, 2014. A small piece of his heart shattered inside his chest and Dick allowed his head to slowly rest against the keys of the keyboard. Blue eyes flickered shut before the sting prickling the corners of his lids could escape. March 17th. The date when, eight years ago today, he last performed in front of an audience with his family.

Resolve settled in his stomach and Dick sat up straight before turning off the computer. He turned around at the doorway and took in one long, final look at one of the few remaining pieces left of his childhood before shutting it and making his way to the training room.

When he arrived, he went to the far wall and opened a secret panel that had been inserted during the reconstruction. A keypad revealed itself and Dick didn't hesitate in typing in a code. All doors that could be used for entrances by other members sealed shut and the room became soundproof. If anyone came to the Mountain, he wouldn't know until he finished the exercise. All that was left connecting him to society on the outside was a camera in the upper corner. He didn't notice that it turned to follow him to the center of the room.

A hologram of a very realistic looking thief appeared about ten feet away. He reached down and pulled out his escrima sticks and grinned when the thief took out a gun. His favorite part about this exercise was the realistic aspects of it all. If he were to be hit by anything, he wouldn't take the realistic damage, but he would feel it as if he'd actually been hit or hurt. The same applied to the hologram. Another great part about it was that he and Batman had created the program to make it as real as possible. If someone like him of Robin were to through a birdarang at the hologram and it were to go pierce the clothes, the holographic bodies would be sent backward as if they'd actually been hit. If it was close enough to the wall when hit, it'd be pinned to the wall while the birdarangs held it there by the clothes on their shoulders.

The thief took aim and fired, but Dick vaulted over it as if it were second nature. The hologram kept firing at him while Dick merely sprung around the room while gradually working his way closer and closer. When he was finally close enough, Dick struck out with an escrima. The thief doubled over and grasped its stomach. Dick took that time to knee him straight in the face. It reeled back and stumbled away, fake blood pouring from the broken nose. A quick roundhouse kick to the back of his head sent the man tumbling to the ground where he stayed unmoving.

Several more figures grew up from the floor and charged at him. Dick almost laughed as he weaved his way through the crowd surrounding him. This way two easy and yet, he knew each and every level became increasingly harder. He effortlessly dodged strike after strike with practiced ease. Ten more figures quickly joined the first on the ground.

A grin was plastered on his face when he turned around to wait for his next opponent to appear. It slowly stood up with its back facing him. _How dramatic_ , he thought. Even so, he thought something was familiar looking about this one.

Dick felt his blood run cold when it finally turned around. The world around him froze and he was almost thrown back in time to an eight year old him leaning down and screaming at the sight of brain matter and blood splattered all over limp and broken bodies. He forced himself to return to the present before he could fully go into the memory.

Hate filled his body and Dick vaguely felt his lip curl up into a snarl, his eyes that had been wide in shock now narrowed in pure hatred and anger. He let out an animalistic roar and snarled out, "Zucco!" before lunging forward, not even giving the hologram the chance to strike first.

Years of pent up anger, grief, desire for revenge, and cold fury took over all logic and reason that he'd been taught. Dick instantly delivered a powerful kick to the man's stomach and an uppercut to the head while his body was hunched over. Sweet pleasure filled his entire being at the sound of pained grunts coming from the hologram. They satisfyingly had Zucco's voice.

Dick aimed another punch but drove it into the murderer's side instead of the face. Another punch and kick soon followed and it felt like the best thing ever was happening to him when he heard the amazing sound of something breaking inside Zucco's chest.

Zucco fell backwards and landed harshly on the ground. Dick was on him in an instant, throwing punch after punch to various spots of the hologram's upper body. The figure somehow threw Dick off and it stumbled to its feet, spitting out from its mouth in the process. A moment of silence minus the heavy breathing stood. Dick's face was still curled into a snarl and spittle dripped down his chin.

Dick's body stiffened as he thought. It wasn't until Zucco took a step forward that hatred took over logic again. He removed two wingdings from their holster and took careful aim before releasing them. His aim remained true. His aim remained true and the weapons caught the sleeves of Zucco's shirt, dragging him back and pinning him to the wall.

Dick was on him in an instant, one hand firmly planted against the wall behind Zucco while the other slammed into Zucco's neck. The hologram let out a gagged noise and a crazed look crossed Dick's face. A demented grin formed and the hand squeezed the throat. He relished the feeling of his parent's murderer's neck between his powerful hand.

The hologram bucked and kicked out against the hold in a desperate attempt to break the brutal hold. It made wet, choking noises that sounded very close to pleading. This only made the fire of fury and need for revenge to burn even harder inside Dick.

Dick tightened his grip and spit rolled down the corners of Zucco's mouth. It was only when the light started to fade from Zucco's eyes that something inside Dick clicked. He jerked back in disgust and held the hand that'd been choking the life out of Zucco with his other hand. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd almost done.

Zucco slumped and his head fell to his chest while he took in noisy breath after breath. "No," Dick whispered, shaking his head while he brought ashamed eyes up to meet fearful green. "I can't."

A shaky breath left Dick's lungs and he took a step backwards before turning around. He wished he hadn't. A giant screen was in front of him and was playing the scene of that night. Dark blue eyes widened in realization of what he was seeing. It was his perspective. He tried desperately to turn away from the screen but his body refused to cooperate with what his mind was telling it.

No. _NO._ This couldn't be happening. How could this be happening? The program wasn't designed to do this! Why was it doing this? And why the hell wouldn't his body move? Why was he stuck with watching this again?

He could literally hear the snap of ropes echo both in his mind and in front of him. The screams were in sync as well. His mother's eyes turned to fear as she looked up while he looked down at their falling bodies. He saw the blood and brain matter splatter against the ground and _oh god why was he being forced to watch this?_

His eyes blurred and he reached down into one of his holsters and before he knew what his body was doing, he whirled around with his arm pulled back to send the wingding straight through the murderer's throat. It all happened in slow motion. He saw the fear in Zucco's eyes reflect that of his mother's. Saw how Zucco's adam's apple bobbed up and down. Saw the trickle of sweat roll down Zucco's cheek. Felt the fear radiating from Zucco overcome his confusion all at once.

He halted himself with the wingding mere centimeters from ending the life of his parent's murderer. His hand trembled and his whole frame followed his hand. He took in a wobbly breath that he hadn't even noticed that he'd needed. Dick licked his lips and swallowed in an attempt to wet his dry mouth. "No," he repeated, louder this time. He stood straight and dropped the wingding, his body still trembling from a combination of pure fear and realization of what he'd almost done. He leaned in close and said, far too quietly for the camera to catch, "I'm not you, Zucco." Dick turned and walked away, his body shaking the entire way, but not before craning his head to glare up at the camera.

Everyone in the main room remained frozen with many thoughts running through their head. After Dick had restrained himself from killing the hologram, Megan had ended the psychic link in order to protect herself from all the overwhelming emotions from attacking her.

Megan had a few tears running down her face. Conner, who stood on the far side of the group and as far from Megan as he could be without being outside the huddled group, had his jaw dropped open and his eyes narrowed while he glared at his shoes. Batman's and Robin's faces were completely unreadable, but if was safe to assume that even Batman himself was stunned with what had transpired. Kaldur looked extremely upset and looked as though he were disappointed in himself.

Wally was shaking with fury, his eyes seeing red, and Artemis had to physically restrain the speedster to keep him from attacking Batman for putting Nightwing through that. For not only making Tony Zucco appear when he shouldn't have, but for also using the memory Martian Manhunter had seen once when probing Dick's mind and put into the program. Dick didn't _deserve_ to be put through that emotional trauma. No one did, in fact.

Even though Artemis was holding back, she wasn't keeping his mouth closed. He opened his mouth and he felt the vein in his neck pounding. "WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!" he shouted, too infuriated to care about watching his language or trying to keep his cool because this was the damn _Batman_ he was yelling at. "WHAT THE HELLl?! ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!"

Batman and Robin turned as one to glare at Wally, but the speedster was too angry to be intimidated. Neither bat answered and it only added to Wally's growing anger because _how can Bruce abuse Dick's memories and emotions like that?!_

All eyes in the room darted nervously between the livid teenager and the Bat. No one spoke for a long time and the room was so deadly quiet that Conner didn't even have to warn them when Dick was coming down the hallway. The echo of feet slapping on the ground echoed like a clap in a cave and everyone turned as one to the dark shadow that represented a doorway. The echo grew louder and louder until it was overwhelming.

It felt like a lifetime had passed to the speedster before Dick entered the room. Masked blue eyes narrowed to slits at the sight of more than just Batman in the room, though the glare seemed to be all on the Bat. Dick took a deep breath and walked straight up to the Bat. He tilted his head the slightest bit so they could look eye-to-eye and a massive conversation seemed to be passing. The tension in the room reached an all-time high.

It was only when his best friend curled his lip and actually _growled_ that Wally realized why Batman did it. He was trying to prove a point to Dick. He had tried to prove that Dick could have killed Zucco. Pride surged through Wally. Dick just proved Batman _wrong_. That never happened!

Something must've changed in Wally's posture because Artemis released her tight hug-turned-pin on him. They looked at each other and Artemis seemed to read his thoughts, for a giant, goofy grin spread across her face. The grin spread like wildfire around his teammates and even Robin's lips were twitched upwards, albeit the smallest bit, but still there. It suddenly didn't matter that the room temperature had felt like it'd dropped the moment Dick didn't do it, for a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Wally's entire body. He was about to step forwards and hug his best friend from behind when something finally happened.

"I'm not him," the quiet yet confident whisper said. Wally hesitated and quickly rethought the hug in case something bad happened. The screen was still pulled up behind Batman and showed the empty room with discarded wingdings and two escrima sticks. "I'm not him," Dick repeated, his voice growing louder with each word until it was at its normal level, "And I'm most certainly not you. I wouldn't kill someone or something that happened almost a decade ago, even if he killed my parents. Not like you would." Jaws dropped at the end of that statement and Batman's eyes narrowed dangerously, mirroring Nightwing's slits.

Nightwing backed away and turned around without another word. Batman reached out and grabbed Nightwing's arm. "Nightwing, wait-" He didn't get to finish his sentence, for Nightwing had reeled around and socked him straight in the jaw. Nothing had prepared them for the amount of shock they felt when Batman went _down_. Not even Robin could mask his face in time. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was suddenly big enough for a car to fit.

Nightwing, on the other hand, had no reaction whatsoever; his eyes still those terrifying slits and his body still as a stone. He turned once more and the Team could only numbly stare at the sight before them. Not even Kaldur, the always calm and collected leader, could pull himself together enough to say anything.

Batman lay still on the ground, holding his jaw with one hand while he propped himself up with the other. He was about to get up when the screen crackled. Everyone but Nightwing, who was still walking away, turned to see what was happening. The sight had Batman on his feet in less than a heartbeat. Robin glued himself to the Bat's side. All Robin could think was, _Thank god Tim wasn't here to see this_.

Joker's face was looking up at something –presumably a phone– and his face scrunched up. _"Is this thing working?_ " The sound of Joker's voice made Nightwing whip around and watch the screen. Joker tapped the camera before laughing. _"Hello residents of the United States! This is your favorite clown speaking! I'm here with you today from Happy Harbor! You'd never imagine how many nice people there are here."_ Something changed in the Joker's tone while he spoke. It sounded dangerous and promised blood and death.

Joker turned away from the screen and pointed to something that was off-camera _. "Lookie over here! This kind lady was nice enough to offer me a tour around the place. She especially loved introducing me to the warehouse this fine morning! Tell everyone how much you love it here, sweet cheeks."_

The view changed to a woman that was tied up against the wall of what could only be a warehouse. terror shone in her eyes and she tried to call out for help through the gag around her mouth. _"Mmph! Mmmph! Hhhmmmmppphhh!"_ Tears rolled down her cheeks and her body was trembling from fright.

Joker's face came back into view and he had a knife in his hand. _"Such a kind young woman, huh?"_

 ** _"Recognized: Nightwing, B01."_**

The sound of Nightwing's departure made Wally, who'd been stationary and watching the scene transpiring in front of him along with everyone else, jump. He was already moving before Batman could give out his order. "Follow him." Batman turned back to watch the screen, his eyes narrowed and calculating, and ignored the announcement of the Team leaving. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach and an image of discarded wingdings and two escrima sticks entered his mind. He turned and sprinted to the Zeta Tubes.

* * *

 ***Present Day***

Tim woke up late in the morning, his stomach growling loudly. He rolled out of bed, his muscles screaming in protest and black spots crept along the edges of his vision. He clenched his stomach and steadied himself against the wall to keep from falling. That would be embarrassing, even if he was the only person in the room and no cameras were watching. The only cameras in the Mountain were essentially everywhere _but_ the bedrooms.

He looked around at the utter blankness of his room. He was so boring. Then the previous night hit him. Why he'd slept in so late. _It was already ten o'freaking clock!_ He was almost always up at five! Eight at the maximum on weekends!

Then he remembered why he'd been up so late in the first place. He'd had another fight with Jason and couldn't fathom staying at the manor. He didn't want to go to sleep with Jason's room, although empty since he had been forced to move to Blϋdhaven, being literally across from his. The smug teen still had the big letters spelling his name taped to the outside of the door as if someone could mistake it for theirs. So he'd come to the Mountain at two in the morning after patrol around Gotham ended. Now that he thought about it, he probably could've asked Barbara if he could have crashed at her place. Oh well.

Even after coming to the Mountain, Tim had spent two more hours in the practice rooms to get the tension and anger off his shoulders. It'd helped, and he was extremely grateful that the room was soundproof. The slap of fist and feet against dummy bags and other items would've driven the clone insane.

He quickly put on sunglasses and ran out the door and through the hallways of the place, his muscle memory taking over on the pattern to take on the way to the kitchen. The Team was probably waiting for him there. That was where they seemed to be most of the time when they weren't on missions or training. He'd noticed that a week after becoming Robin. In a few months, he'll have been Robin for two years!

 _Wow. Being Robin really does fly…_ Tim almost laughed at the lame pun, but he managed to hold it back.

His guess was correct, and from the looks of it, they really needed someone to settle them down. Conner was on the far side of the room and watching Lagoon Boy and Megan through narrowed and angry eyes while the couple fed each other small treats. Blue Beetle looked weirded out by it, as per usual. Wonder Girl had Bumble Bee in a head lock, smiles on both of their faces. Beast Boy had a piece of pie and was trying to creep up on his adoptive sister.

Robin raised an eyebrow and coughed. "Hey!" Everyone looked at him and Wonder Girl laughed. He scowled. "What?" he asked. He was not in the mood to mess around; he was still mad about last night.

"You're hair is messed up," she said, still laughing. He almost smiled. She was –her laugh was so cute –just her laugh. Nothing else. Nothing at all. She was certainly pretty but he most certainly didn't like her –he liked her… as a friend! That's right. Tim liked her like a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

He opened his mouth to respond but the automated tone of the computer cut him off. **"Recognized: Nightwing, B13. Batgirl, B16."** Tim slammed his jaw shut and his body stiffened. Everyone frowned at that, but no one mentioned it. They were still cautious about bringing up the sparring match between Robin and Nightwing. Even Beast Boy put down the pie.

Nightwing and Batgirl entered the room and Jason's eyes instantly found Robin. Batgirl glanced between the two before the three of them had a quiet conversation. The tension in the room thickened. Nightwing spoke after a minute. "Gotham. Now."

Robin hated how Nightwing's tone didn't even offer a chance to question why. Nightwing turned and walked away. Robin looked at Batgirl and he raised his eyebrow. 'What the heck?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know.'

He tiled his head to the side. 'What's going on?'

Even with the cowl on, Robin could tell that her face darkened and he saw her fists clench by her sides. He understood instantly. 'Joker.'

Robin followed her without question, his mind remembering the last encounter he'd had with the crazed man. Batman had attempted to torture him into telling him how to stop the laughing gas infecting Gotham. It hadn't worked, of course, but the memory stuck with Tim nonetheless. He'd learned much about Batman that day.

He had learned that Batman loved breaking fingers. He loved to put his face in another's as a way of intimidation. He learned that Bruce's voice could drop to terrifying levels that Tim never wanted to hear again. Batman enjoyed hurting the Joker. Batman could never kill the Joker. That was the most important thing, in Tim's mind.

The two, for some strange reason, needed each other. It was as if one would die without the other. He knew that that was why Joker would always target the Robins and anyone close to Batman. And why he put Batman in traps he knew the Bat could escape from. The Joker could not live in a world without the Batman. Batman, despite all the crimes Joker had committed and all the people he'd killed, could not end the man himself. Because Batman can't survive without Joker.

They're two pieces of a whole. Robin often wondered what Jason's other piece, or pieces, were. He acted like he didn't need to rely on anyone, but Tim knew that everyone does. Maybe that was why Jason hated him so much.

Tim had Batgirl. He had Conner. He had Cassie. He had the Team.

While Nightwing was leader, everyone knew that it wasn't supposed to be Jason. They knew the first was supposed to. So where did that put Tim? Tim wanted to become Robin. Jason didn't want to become Nightwing.

And now Tim knew Jason was hiding something. There had to be a reason why he was slipping away at the most random times. And Tim was going to find out why, even if it killed him to find out. He was a detective, after all. He'd figure out the enigma soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**About three years ago**

 **-TD-**

 **Gotham City**

He gaped up at the massive house in front of him, his mind still unable to comprehend how huge it was. Frankly, he didn't think he ever would, despite having previously lived in a mansion. The old mansion just wasn't as big as Bruce Wayne's.

Seriously! How could the billionaire playboy stand living there? There were only two other people living there, not including Dick Grayson, who'd moved to Blϋdhaven a while back so he could train to be a cop. Poor Alfred Pennyworth must have a field day cleaning the entire Manor. He shuddered when he tried to imagine the old man cleaning every nook and cranny of the place.

And that wasn't even including the backyard, front yard, the garage, and any other place that he wasn't currently thinking of. He shuddered at the mere thought of spending all day sweeping, dusting, and cleaning.

Alfred's voice startled him from his thoughts, and he turned his head, eyes wide and his mouth still agape. "Master Tim, it is time to head inside. Master Bruce is waiting to meet you in the main hall before I show you to your new room."

"I… Uh… Right…" Tim said stupidly. He didn't like the phrase 'new room.' He wanted his father back. Something stung at his eyes and he slammed them shut, refusing to be caught crying by the paparazzi outside of Wayne Manor. He could practically imagine the headlines that would follow. 'New Wayne ward hesitant to meet his adoptive father. Is Wayne verbally abusing the new ward?'

When the stinging went away, he opened his eyes again and carefully stepped out of the car, his small legs slow to move. Tim swallowed hard and tried to ignore the flashes from cameras and shouts of questions sent at him. He almost sighed in relief when Alfred reappeared by his side with his luggage. He clung to the Butler like a dog to its owner, eager to be offered a chance to be saved from the people surrounding them and the car.

They walked forward together. Alfred raised an irritated eyebrow at the crowd in front of them, and they stepped to the side, no one willing to anger the old man. Tim tried to stare at the bags in the butler's hands as a way to ignore the people, but winced back when the sunlight reflected off the metal locks and into his eyes. He chose instead to stuff his hands in his pockets and match his steps along with Alfred's.

After what felt like hours, but in reality was only thirty seconds, the pair entered the front door of Wayne manor. Tim exhaled a long breath that he hadn't been aware of holding. His jaw fell once more at the paintings mounted along the walls and the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling above.

He turned to ask Alfred a question, but was stunned to find that the butler was nowhere in sight. "What… Where…?"

"Welcome to your new home, Timothy." Tim turned to the doorway behind him and had to crane his neck to look Bruce Wayne in the eyes.

"I prefer Tim," he grumbled. _My parents called me Timothy_.

A small smile graced Bruce's face. "Of course, Tim. Alfred is placing your bags in your room. He'll be back shortly to show you the way. In the meantime, you and I should get to know each other a little more."

Tim couldn't help but narrow his eyes a little in thought. Barely a minute here and he already felt as if something were off… he was hiding something behind that smile… "Where're the others?" he asked sheepishly.

Bruce raised a brow as if slightly surprised that that was the first thing the young boy would be asking. "Jason has been confined to his room for the morning. His teachers informed me that he hasn't been completing his homework, so that's what he is doing as of this moment." A slight pause ensued. Bruce was well aware that Tim was waiting for information of Dick's whereabouts, but Bruce knew that the boy knew exactly where he was.

"I'm hungry." Tim's stomach grumbled as if to prove his point. He glanced uneasily at his belly and then back at Bruce. "I didn't have a chance to eat breakfast yet."

His lips thinned. "I'll see about getting Alfred to make you something to eat." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and looked at the clock. He took a few more steps into the room and moved to the left. "He should be back here any second now."

"Did I hear Master Tim say he's hungry?" Alfred's voice sounded moments before he appeared exactly where Bruce had been a few moments ago.

Bruce nodded."Make him some breakfast, please. I have some business to attend to." He walked until he was right in front of Tim. Putting a hand on top of the boy's head, he ruffled it. Bruce then proceeded to grab a coat off of its hanger and put it on. He paused when his hand was on the handle of the door. "And don't worry about the press," he added as an afterthought. He flashed a reassuring smile to Tim. "I'll take care of them." And then he was gone, a small blow of the February cold entering the house and making Tim shudder.

"The dining room is this way, Master Tim." He turned and followed Alfred through the house.

One right, two lefts, and then they were in what he could only assume to be a dining room to fit twenty people. He vaguely recognized the room from the party Bruce Wayne had hosted. He sighed at the mere thought. His eyes welled and this time he allowed two tears to roll down his cheeks. "Dad…" he whispered to no one.

He wasn't even aware of Alfred standing in front of him until the man put his hands on Tim's shoulders in his version of a hug. Alfred kneeled down and stared Tim straight in the eyes. "Master Bruce is terribly sorry for what happened to your father," Alfred promised. "If he would have known that the Joker and his assailants were going to break into the Manor to catch attention, he would not have had the party. Master Bruce is doing everything he can to find out who it was, and he will bring him, or her, to justice."

Tim sighed and rubbed his left hand across his face. "I know… it's just… I miss him."

"And you are much stronger than many young boys your age," Alfred insisted. "Now, I do hope you enjoy pancakes. Master Jason loves them, and he still needs to eat as well."

Tim sniffled a little and rubbed at his eyes once more. "Yeah… pancakes are fine." Alfred walked away and left Tim to his thoughts.

Sighing, Tim sat at a seat at the far end of the table and away from all the doorways. It gave him a good view of both entrances without him having to turn his head to look from one to the other. He was already getting tired of being snuck up on and suddenly being left behind… that reminded him a lot of the Batman… _rumor has it that he scares Gordon every time the Batsignal is turned on_ …

He crossed his arms and planted them on the table before resting his head on his arm. He was pretty sure he knew who the Batman was… all he needed was psychical proof and then he'd know for sure. Tim let out a humorless chuckle. _Yeah, so says every single person in Gotham. What makes you think that you're any different?_ Of course he was having an argument with himself. One hundred percent natural, right? Totally not concerning in the slightest. Not at all.

Then again, most people didn't have to return to a room and find their father dead on the floor…

 _"Dad? I have to go to the bathroom… no, I don't need an escort… Mr. Wayne said it's just down the hall… this place is so huge and these hallways are so long…" BANG "Dad? Dad, where are you? Oh my –DAD? DAD, PLEASE! Wake up… please wake up… Mr. Wayne, why isn't he waking up… Please, PLEASE wake him up… DAD!"_

Tim involuntarily shuddered at the memory of him sobbing over his father's body and he closed his eyes for a long moment, refusing to allow himself to cry. He'd cried enough over the past month. Now it was time to figure out which of Joker's goons murdered his father. Whoever was, Tim mentally swore to make them pay.

All he needed were the files and reports on that night… something of which both the police _and_ the Batman would have, and if his calculations were correct… which he was almost positive that they were…

He was always solving problems, like when his friend James from school hid his things and told him that he had to figure out where they'd been put. That had only taken him all of five minutes to figure out.

Tim closed his eyes once more while he continued to wait for food, mentally wondering when, or if, Jason was going to come down and eat. He highly doubted that Alfred allowed people to eat anywhere else in the house, much less their own rooms. It'd take forever to clean up any mess.

The delicious smell of pancakes drove Tim from his thoughts and he felt his mouth water at the smell. He could almost taste it. It smelled of blueberries and overall pure heaven. He hadn't had pancakes in so long… He could only imagine what Alfred's would taste like. He almost drooled at the thought. Blueberry pancakes were probably one of the greatest breakfast inventions ever.

"Who are you," a voice commanded, startling Tim out of his thoughts. He internally punched himself for allowing himself to be snuck up of _again_. Honestly!

He blinked a few quick times and swallowed. "I'm, uh, I'm Ti-"

"I know who you are," Jason interrupted, the annoyance evident on his face. "I meant, what are you doing here?"

Tim couldn't help but frown. Surly Jason Todd had been informed that he was going to be living here? "Uh… Bruce is taking me in," he visibly winced, "because of the party."

Jason clenched his jaw and Tim could've sworn that he saw the older boy's eye twitch. Jason moved to stand right next to him and when Tim turned, Jason roughly jabbed a finger at his chest. "Well listen here, punk. Just because you live here now doesn't mean I have to like you." He curled his lip. "Especially not some replacement!"

Tim flinched at the harshness of Jason's voice and the way he said 'replacement.' It sounded full of venom and almost as if he wished he were allowed to wring Tim's scrawny little neck.

"Master Jason! Where are your manors, young man?" Alfred's voice brought instant comfort to Tim. Jason's eyes widened and he was quick to dart away from the younger and chose a seat as far away from Tim as he could get. He was about to sit down when Alfred scolded him once more. "That is no way to make Master Tim feel at home!"

Jason hung his head and walked back towards Tim with a muffled, "Sorry, Alfred."

"I should certainly hope so."

Meanwhile, Tim gaped at the steaming pancakes on the plates in Alfred's arms. He didn't even notice when Jason sat down two seats away from him.

"Will Bruce be joining us?" Jason asked.

Tim was slightly surprised that Jason had actually bothered to ask. From what he heard, Jason and Bruce weren't seen as often by the public than he had with Dick when he was young. Maybe Bruce just wanted to shield Jason, a boy he'd essentially found on the street, from the sudden attention. But Jason had been taken in a year ago. Even so, the slight glimmer of hope in Jason's voice indicated that they did not see each other very often. That or he had something important he wanted to talk to Bruce about.

Alfred's gaze flickered to Tim for a split second, not that the young boy noticed between his gawking. "I am afraid not. Master Bruce had to take care of some business, as he said." The two swapped a meaningful glance before Alfred finally set the plates on the table.

Steam floated into the air and Tim refrained from just stuffing the food into his mouth. Alfred surely would not appreciate that. Besides, there wasn't any syrup on it. He glanced up and was about to ask for some, but Alfred beat him to it. "Would either of you like any toppings, sirs?"

Jason requested whipped cream and maple syrup. Tim quickly asked for the same. That earned him a harsh glare from Jason, leaving him confused. He couldn't understand why Jason seemed to hate him. They didn't even know each other!

"Let's make one thing clear, replacement," Jason hissed as soon as Alfred was gone. "I don't know you, and I don't _want_ to know you. Capisce?" Tim could only nod in response.

After a long, awkward silence and two finished pancakes later, Alfred was ready to show Tim to his room. "And just where do you think you're going?" he called after Jason, who'd been halfway out the door.

Jason froze and slowly turned around. "I'm going to finish my homework," he reassured the suspicious butler.

Alfred gave another meaningful look to Jason that Tim wished he could read. "I'm pleased to know," he commented dryly. "Perhaps you should show Master Tim to his room."

Jason's eyes grew ten times their normal size. "But Alfred-"

"I will have no complaining of the sort. It seems that Master Bruce needs help deciding on what to eat at Olive Garden and has requested my assistance."

With a resigned sigh, Jason turned his attention to Tim a jerked his head to the side to indicate for him to follow. While they walked down the too quiet hallways of Wayne Manor, Tim stared at his feet rather than look at his surroundings.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach and Tim forced his gaze up. He let out a startled yelp and darted backwards, not even noticing when he collapsed onto his knees. Bile rose in the back of his throat but he forcibly swallowed it back down. He refused to puke and look weak in front of Jason, even if tears were already falling from his face.

"Can we please go a different way?" he begged.

Jason squatted down next to him and uneasily placed his hand on the younger's back. He attempted to rub soothing circles on Tim's back, but it didn't help in the slightest; their less than pleasant first meeting took away from what was supposed to be a calming gesture.

"Shit, kid. I'm sorry," Jason murmured in his ear. "I didn't mean to bring you this way. It's just that I always walk this way… we'll take a different path. Come on, let's get you up- okay, let's not puke, okay?"

Tim simply nodded and allowed Jason to grab his arm and slip it over his shoulder. If his stomach weren't so knotted he would've been mortally embarrassed when he was picked up bridal style and carried down the hallway. His mind screamed at him to turn away from the room, but his body refused to cooperate and his eyes continued to stare blankly at the room from where his head rested on Jason's shoulder. All he could see in his mind's eye was the bloodied body of his father while he crouched over top of it, screaming bloody murder and pressing his hands frantically over a wound that just refused to stop bleeding.

Jason on the other hand, felt extremely guilty, despite the rude first encounter. He just didn't like the fact that he'd barely lived in the manor for a year and he was already being replaced. Dick Grayson had lived there for six years before Jason even came along! Seriously! Was he that disliked by Bruce that he was being replaced as soon as possible?

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't Tim that he was actually mad at, but Bruce himself. He was starting to understand why Dick left… at least, he thought he understood. He'd luckily at school at the time when it'd happened. He'd never been so grateful to be at school before that day. Much less grateful that Dick had been recovering in bed from a wound received as Robin.

He would've shuddered at the thought if he weren't speed walking with an eleven year old kid in his arms in hopes of getting him to his room before potential projectile vomit would ruin his clothes. He'd never hear the end of it from Alfred.

Speaking of Alfred, he wondered what the butler was actually up to. He would never dare to question the old man out loud out of fear of being scolded for intruding upon privacy. Jason would much rather spend five hours in a room with the Joker with his hands tied behind his back than to face the wrath of Alfred Pennyworth. He didn't believe anything to be scarier. Not even the infamous bat glare. Or even the Batman in general.

Jason was soon met with a flight of stairs and he scaled them as fast as he possibly could. He tried to ignore the way that Tim's little head bounced against his shoulder and refused to turn his head to look at him. He didn't want possibly stare into vacant eyes.

"Just a little further," he grunted out. Tim didn't verbally respond, but he could almost swear that he felt the arm strewn across his other shoulder pressed harder against him. Jason tightened his own grip in return.

He took another left and practically kicked down the door a little ways down the hallway and just across from his own room. The room was desolate besides the bed, dresser, closet, nightstand, and luggage sitting on the bed. A trash can sat in the corner and Jason carefully put Tim down next to it in case the boy puked.

Rather than do what Jason thought he'd do, Tim turned to him and have a weak smile that didn't have the desired effect due to the blurry eyes and red marks indicating that he'd been silently crying on the trip up.

He sighed and crouched down so that they were eye level. "Look… I'm really sorry, kid. I didn't mean to… it was just the fastest way here and…" he trailed off, not wanting to hurt the boy more by saying that he'd taken the path quickest to getting him away from him.

"I get it," Tim said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. "You don't like me. You don't have to pretend to try to get along with me. I'm unwanted, I get it."

And his irritation returned in a heartbeat. "You know what? Whatever. I tried being nice. But apparently you think that's just me faking it," he snapped.

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but Jason abruptly turned around and strode out, slamming the door closed on his way.

Now it was his turn to sigh. Left all alone, Tim pushed himself to his feet and walked over to his bed and sat down. Grabbing his bag and placing it on his lap, Tim opened it.

He took out the photo that was sitting on top and set the frame against the nightstand. "I miss you," he whispered, his thumb stroking the glass and picture of him and his parents. A choked sob escaped him and he didn't hear footsteps hesitantly walking away from his door.

* * *

Tim groaned and shifted in his bed for what he could only guess to be the fiftieth time. Try as much as he could, his mind just refused to let him sleep despite the exhaustion pulsing through his body.

He felt like he'd done everything possible to fall asleep. Clenching and unclenching his fingers and toes, counting sheep, meditating, and just blocking everything out around him, yet here he was, still awake and desperately wanting to sleep!

Tim rolled over once more and pulled the covers down over his head. Blue eyes opened just enough to make out four digits on an alarm clock set up on the nightstand. He groaned for the second time in five minutes. _11:38_. He'd been laying in bed trying to sleep for over an hour and a half. That apparently wasn't working.

With great reluctance, Tim pried himself from the bed sheets and struggled to his feet. He smacked his lips together a few times and crept over to his door.

Using his memory of the tour that Alfred had actually given him earlier that day (Jason disappeared to who-knows-where), Tim walked down the hallways of Wayne Manor as quietly as he could. He soon found himself one room away from the front door when he paused in his tracks. Voices echoed down the hall to him.

"- heavens, Master Dick! It is good to see you, but what brings you here at this hour, sir?"

A light chuckle. "Sorry Alfie," the man –Dick– apologized. "I finally finished that project I told you about last week. Drove straight here as soon as I finished." Tim could practically hear the shrug in Dick's voice. "Figured you'd be up here for awhile yet. Couldn't resist saying hello to my best friend."

Tim frowned. _'Up here?'_ As far as Tim was aware, there was no basement inside the Manor. That meant one of two things. Either Alfred didn't complete the tour, which Tim seriously doubted because the butler seemed to know and remember everything, or…

Alfred was not pleased with the answer. "How many times have we discussed answering the question, Master Dick?"

"Alright, alright! I need to talk to Bruce, okay? I just… wanted to speak to you first."

"Master Bruce is down in his study. If you wish to talk, I request you go now, sir."

"Thanks, Alfie."

And then a set of feet began walking in the opposite direction. He almost didn't hear the quieter set of feet until the figure of Alfred appeared in front of him. He gulped and glanced up to see the butler gazing down at him with a raised eyebrow. He gaped in awkward surprise until he regained some of his composure. Alfred remained silent, seemingly waiting for Tim to speak.

"I-I couldn't sleep. I came down here to see if Bruce was awake," he lied, heart racing. At Alfred's disbelieving and judgmental look, Tim scrambled through his mind in search for a distraction. "Was that Dick I heard you talking to? I didn't hear what was said of course! Just the rebounds off the walls. It sounded like him. "

Alfred still wasn't convinced, but let the discussion drop anyway. He dipped his head. "Indeed, sir."

"Do you know where he went?" Tim inwardly groaned to himself. Why did he have to sound like an overexcited fan boy that'd just met his or her role model?

"I should believe the Master is in what he deemed 'the family room,'" Alfred replied. "He seems to have taken a preference to see a happy face before conversing with Master Bruce."

Tim blinked, surprised that he'd received a legitimate answer from the butler and not a cryptic one, much like Jason when questioned on where he'd gone to at nine o'clock. "Uh… thanks. I'm just… gonna… just gonna go talk to him for a bit," he said sheepishly.

Alfred stepped away, giving Tim room to hunt down the acrobat, and he took off, his suspicions on high alert and warning him that he was about to miss something important. Memory took over, and he recalled Alfred showing him a room with a painting of the Flying Grayson's hanging on the wall and a grandfather clock against the far wall from the door. He hesitated outside the room.

He could only assume that was the correct room. After all, what other room could the butler be referring to? He was going to wait and see if Dick would walk out after a few minutes, but the swoosh of air being expelled had him enter the room. Tim's eyes were instantly drawn to the old grandfather clock and saw the minute hand move backward to read 2:30.

Tim's eyes widened, his jaw dropping in surprise. Had he expected this? Completely. Then again, it was one thing to suspect that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy was Batman, but it was another to find an entrance to the _Batcave_.

Glancing behind himself to make sure that Alfred wasn't going to appear at any given moment, Tim placed suddenly sweaty hands on the clock. He closed his eyes and remembered all the photos of both Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, and the different sets of the Dynamic Duo with two different Robins he'd had hidden in his nightstand back at home, as well as the information he looked up on them. He opened his eyes after a minute and the corner of his lips curved up into a smirk.

He changed the clock to read _10:27_. The grandfather clock moved to the side to reveal a dark, empty passage. Tim stepped through without a moment's hesitation, his adrenaline the only thing preventing him from hightailing it away from his chance to prove himself right.

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

 ** _-TD-_**

 ** _Gotham City, 7:36_**

Tim smirked and waved as the bell rang. A horrified expression appeared on his friend's face and it took almost all of Tim's willpower to not burst out laughing as Blaze took the final three steps to enter the classroom. He was late to class.

"And what," Tim's homeroom and first period math teacher, Mrs. Davis started, "is the excuse today, Mr. Glacken?"

Blaze tugged on his shirt collar, his face still horrified. "My locker wouldn't open! I swear!"

An eyebrow rose. The teacher stood up from her desk and stared down Blaze. She gestured to the many books stacked in his hands. "You seem to have your supplies with you, do you not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"You're late to class for the second time already this semester, Mr. Glacken. Make sure it doesn't happen again. I'd hate to have to have another talk with your parents." She picked up a stack of papers off of her desk. She thumbed through them and began counting out packets. Tim estimated that she put three back on the desk. Without looking up, she said, "Have a seat, Blaze."

Blaze sat down next to Tim. Tim tried not to look at the red hue on Blaze's cheeks, and instead gestured to the stack now on his desk. "Did you finish the chemistry homework from last night?"

"Barely," Blaze breathed out. He fiddled his thumbs before looking at Tim, his expression dead serious. "I was up until three this morning on it, so I better get at least a ninety-five on it! If I don't, I swear you'll never see me again. My dad made it perfectly clear that he wants me to have a ninety in chem by the end of the marking period. I calculated it, and if I get that ninety-five, I'll be at a ninety-two by the end of the day."

"Today you will be taking a test. Separate your desks and get out a sheet of graphing paper. This is math class; you're expected to draw graphs as some point, so quit grumbling and get over it. You aren't three year olds that cry when they don't get what they want. You're high school students, even if some of you shouldn't be in this class yet, so I expect you to act like the mature young adults you're expected to be. As always, take your time and show your work or you will _not_ receive all points possible."

Tim ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Dude, stoichiometry isn't even hard. It's just like basic math!"

"That's easy for you to say!" Blaze paused to tug his desk a foot away. "You're a genius when it comes to anything math related."

At that moment, a packet was slammed onto his desk, making Tim jump. He looked up into the irritated eyes of Mrs. Davis. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "Get started boys; you have forty minutes to turn it in."

"Right, Mrs. Davis," he said in a rush.

It was no wonder everyone was terrified of the woman; she never accepted a student's excuse and always acted as if she never even wanted to be a teacher in the first place. Tim could be completely rude by thinking that Mrs. Davis was on a never ending period, but he hated stereotyping, especially considering many girls he knew didn't even change behavior ever. Granted, he didn't know if they'd gotten it for the first time, nor did he want to know (it was none of his business. Barbara never acted differently, and it was just awkward thinking about for Tim.

That didn't mean he wasn't looking at any girls though. At fourteen years old, he knew he'd be expected to soon take on the playboy act like Bruce. Either way, there were a few girls he genuinely found attractive. However, there was only one girl he actually liked, and she was probably at Happy Harbor at the moment.

Tim glanced up at the clock on the wall. _Thirty minutes_. Tim wasn't concerned in the slightest. Algebra two was his best subject last semester, and all of the lessons were very easy. Honestly, Tim thought he should've been placed in trigonometry and pre calculus, but Bruce had argued that he was already one grade ahead. Still, everyone knew that he didn't belong in alg two. It just simply wasn't on his level of expertise when it came to math.

He huffed and propped his head up with his palm. He stared at the test, his lips tugging into a frown as he read through the questions on the first page. Tim wrote his name down at the top of the paper and began writing down answers.

The worst part was that Tim had to show his work. He was content with doing it all in his head! Besides, he rarely even had to use a calculator, so he didn't see the problem with not writing down work. He flipped the page and smirked. Finally!

 _"Write the equation of the quadratic using the points: (3,20) (-1,-4) (-5,4)"_

Tim loved these types of questions. They actually provided a little bit of a challenge for Tim because he had to be super careful to make sure he didn't mess up anything. If he did, he'd have to go back and figure out where he went wrong or start over again. He quickly set up his equations of:

 **20=9a+3b+c**

 **-4=a-b+c**

 **4=25a-5b+c**

From there, Tim combined the first equation with the second and the first and third. As a final answer, Tim had: **y=** **+4x-1**

The rest of the page contained three more of those questions, all of which Tim happily answered. The third page moved onto a whole new topic.

Tim finished the paper with fifteen minutes to spare, and he wasn't the last person to finish. In fact, he was the second person to turn in the paper (he didn't feel like being the first). That may or may not have meant he sat there pretending to be checking his answers for a couple of minutes.

On the bright side, the spare time gave him the time to allow his thoughts to stray. He hadn't really been getting much time for that lately because of his duties as Robin, a teammate, and his school responsibilities. Ironically, school seemed to be the only place where he'd have spare time. Almost all his time at the manor was spent in the batcave studying mock crime scenes to enhance his detective skills, training with his bo staff, and trying to hunt down the Joker before he could cause harm to the city.

He scowled and subconsciously clenched his hand into a fist. He was starting to get sick of Gotham's villains getting out of Arkham essentially whenever they wanted. Even more so that that meant Tim had to shuffle himself between two completely separate battles. He found it ridiculous that Bruce refused to allow metas into his city (unless it was a team villain and Bruce didn't trust Tim to handle it on his own, like Clayface), although Tim did understand it. They were among the few vigilantes/heroes in the cape community that didn't have any powers. That meant they had to work three times as hard to prove that they belonged. Well, at least Tim did. Being fourteen and among the youngest on the team didn't help his case.

That also meant he wasn't used or needed as much as the other members. With all the alien villains appearing, nonmetas were being shoved to the sideline because they didn't have powers to protect themselves. Sure, there was the fiasco a while back when Jason put Tim in charge of gamma squad, but that'd been completely accidental. If they'd have known beforehand, he probably would have been put on another squad instead. The only good thing that came out for Tim was that Blue Beetle and L'gann knew that he could handle himself and lead a group.

… and he and Jason got along for a whole two days before the arguments started back up, even if they'd never admit to enjoying being on the same page.

Which lead to the Red Hood. It was among the few things that Tim couldn't figure out. No name, no face to recognize… nothing. There was no way he could've just disappeared; he had to be somewhere out there, but where? And what was with his strange obsession with Tim? Thankfully Bruce was on another planet. Otherwise Robin probably would have been retired. Dang Bruce and his freakish paranoia.

The sound of the bell ringing made Tim jump in his seat. Had he really just zoned out for fifteen minutes? He shook his head and put his desk back where it belonged next to Blaze's. the older boy was smirking at him.

"What?"

Blaze laughed and they picked up their folders and books. "Dude, you were out like a light! I don't even want to know what the heck you were possibly thinking about that had you so out of it. It was as if you were staring straight through the floor and out into the depths of space."

Tim scoffed. "You say that as if you've never spaced out before! Besides, who says I wasn't thinking about that one hundred percent I'm going to get and the eighty you'll get on that chem paper?"

"Hey! Not fair you little…" he broke off and stared at a group of girls several feet in front of them. He pursed his lips and glanced down at Tim, an evil look crossing his face. Dread filled Tim's body but it was too late. Blaze grabbed Tim's arm and swung him into the middle of the group. "Hey, girls! Timmy boy here wants to talk to you. Says there's one of you he wants to ask out on a date."

Tim's face flushed a bright red as many sets of eyes stared at him. "I'm terribly sorry about this," he rushed, "but Blaze has it all wrong. So sorry for the interruption… um… I have to get to class."

Tim squeezed out of the circle without another word, his face still bright red. He quickly caught up to Blaze and roughly elbowed him in the side. "Not. Cool. Not cool at all."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't taunt me about my chem grade," Blaze teased back.

* * *

Lunch was a nice break from the morning. Tim liked his schedule for this reason. His morning classes consisted of math, civics and economics, English, and gym. And then came lunch. After lunch, Tim had French, chemistry, and psychology. It was a nice little break from everything considering he enjoyed all his classes, and they were practically divided into the thought process of more work in the morning, little work in the afternoon. That meant he usually had a bit of free time, and therefore could usually finish any homework given in the morning with his spare time.

"… Tim!"

Tim started and looked up a Blaze. He realized he must've been asked something, and he had no clue what. He stupidly said, "Huh?"

Blaze eyed him critically. "You gonna eat your sandwich or what? Did Alfred not make it the way you like?"

Tim became irritated. While he understood that Blaze was just trying to get him to talk, it was well known among his group of friends that sometimes he'd go days without talking. They made a silent agreement to just leave Tim to his thing whenever that happened and welcome him back when he started talking again.

So why was Blaze talking to him now?

… oh.

Oh.

It was because they talked earlier. Tim would only talk if called on in class whenever he went on his silent episodes. And those were usually not very often, only happening when Batman and Robin would have trouble finding a villain. Tim would spend his time thinking of all logical places they could possibly be.

"Yeah," he mumbled, taking a bite to prove his point. His friends gave his skeptical looks while he chewed.

Blaze swapped glances with James. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, is everything alright? You're acting a little strange," James added. "Is everything all good at home?"

James was a nice person. He was usually the first to notice if something was wrong with one of the members of their ragtag group of friends. While he wasn't considered very smart, or, at least not on any of the other's level, he just knew whenever something was up. That was his superpower.

Each friend has their own little skill they consider a special power. Blaze is the teaser and can tell when someone has a crush, James knows whenever something is wrong, Tim just knows things he shouldn't possibly be able to know, and Jessica can make anyone laugh if she set her mind to it.

"Yeah, everything's great," Tim reassured with a smile. "Alfred's still as sassy as ever," he added as an afterthought.

James was always asking about Alfred as if he expected the butler to die sometime soon. If Tim had to place any bets on who would live the longest in all of Gotham, he'd put his money on Alfred.

James and Blaze stood up. "We're gonna head to the bathroom really quick."

"Both of you?"

"A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

Jessica spoke for the first time. "And what about girls?"

That left everyone quiet for a solid thirty seconds before Jessica broke from her irritated look into n amused one. She laughed and Tim joined her. They ignored the looks they were getting from other tables.

"Go before you pee yourselves," Tim said, still laughing. Both boys flushed a red hue and left the room. Tim turned his blue eyes to Jess. "Thanks for the save. I already have Alfred's voice in my head half the day. I don't need it any more being asked to tell a story about a time he roasted me or Bruce."

Jess was a small girl with brown hair braided in the back. She had green eyes and her voice was smooth as honey. She was smarter than Tim when it came to French and civics. It was crazy how she made it seem so easy in remembering terms such as filibuster. Jess's voice was like heaven when she spoke French because she practically took on an accent and her words flowed together smoothly. If Tim didn't have his eyes on another girl, he probably wouldn't mind the prospect of dating Jess.

She put a hand on top of his, drawing him back to the present. He glanced down and then back up to see her face now dead serious and lacking the amusement she'd previously held. "I know that is not what's bothering you."

Tim sighed, using the few seconds of stalling that gave him to think of something to say that would convince Jess that he was telling the truth. He unconsciously slid his hand out from underneath hers. "Jason and I haven't been getting along very well lately." Okay. Only a half lie. Sure, they've never truly gotten along together and usually put up a good front in front of the media and the Team, but the fact that they couldn't get along did genuinely trouble Tim. Why was it that even after all the time Tim spent meditating daily that Jason got under his skin so easily and riled him up?

Jess furrowed her brows. "Have you done anything to provoke him? Or has he done anything to provoke you?"

He let out an emotionless chuckle. "Besides being our regular selves? No. I think…" He trailed off, unsure if he should say what he was going to. She gave him a reassuring nod. "I think that I somehow made him think that I replaced him. He didn't get much time to walk around and get all the attention from the media before I came along and became the new focus."

"Is that why he moved to Blϋdhaven?"she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side and a strand of hair gliding across her face.

Tim nodded slowly. _Liar._

Two sets of hands landed on his shoulders and Tim's face instantly morphed into a cocky smirk. Blaze and James sat back down. His smirk grew and became genuine. He rested his hands behind his head. "You two jealous that I got a better grade than you on that math test?"

James's jaw dropped. "I haven't even had math class yet, Tim!" he spluttered. "You don't know how well I'll do!"

"Alright, fine," Tim conceded with a fake frown. Then his smirk reappeared. "I predict I'll get a ninety nine. Blaze will get a ninety. Jess will get a ninety five. And you, James, will have an eighty three."

The following day, he was proven right when they got their tests back, much to James's dismay.

* * *

 **AN: The flashback ended up being a lot longer than I intended, especially in comparison to the length of the present day part. So sorry about that if you find it strange; it was entirely accidental. That just seemed like a good place to stop and save a scene for next chapter. Umm, anyways, did you enjoy the casualness of this as a little break from the drama going on with all the other characters?**

 **Who's your favorite character? Which characters do you like? Which do you not like? What would you like to see happen in future chapters? And what do you think is up with Jason?**


	8. Announcement

This story has probably come to a close for numerous reasons, and for that I am sorry. I know some of you seemed to enjoy this book very much, and if someone wants to pick it up and continue writing it on their own, let me know so I can give you the outline I have written up. If not, I can post the entire plot on here so you at least know what direction this story was going in. Anyways, here are the reasons why I can't continue this:

1\. There's a lack of interest. When I first started writing this, it was all fresh in my head and it needed to get out, but I simply can't bring myself to pull up Microsoft office and start typing anymore.

2\. New ideas. Again, upon writing this, much like when I started the Final Act, they were the only things in my head and I could picture the direction they were going to go in. But now that my views are expanded and I'm looking up a lot of psychology things(I want to be a psychologist) new ideas just overtake whatever was planned, and then there's the struggle of trying to distinguish what idea went to what story. It's just too much to remember, especially when you're researching a psychological disorder and then get the desire to put it in your story, so when you try and say no to yourself, it manifests itself into your brain until you can't imagine writing without it being brought in. That wouldn't be a problem if everything weren't already planned and noted.

3\. School. All classes last year were very easy and gave very little homework, and therefor I had plenty of time to work on this *looks at the 6k+ chapters*. However, many of my teachers last year were telling me I should take the honors class for the next school year, and I've listened to them. AP English, Trig/PreCalc honors, Biology honors, Cult Geo honors, and psychology are all on my schedule for next year, meaning I'm going to be packed with both school work and homework. Weekends will be about the only free time I have, and I'll want to spend those simply relaxing, because writing a story will be too much like writing an essay, which is pretty much half of what you do in AP English.

4\. I'm going to be a junior this upcoming school year, and junior year is the year where colleges really start paying attention to your grades. All my focus has to be put into keeping up good grades, because I already have the college I want to go to in mind, I just have to catch their attention.

Again, sorry to those of you who have invested your time in reading this, only for it to be cancelled. This wasn't planned, but life and college options have come knocking at my door, and I have to answer to those first.


End file.
